


I and Love and You

by ariadne83, somehowunbroken



Series: such a noble aim as love [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2015-2016 CHL Season, 2015-2016 NHL Season, 2016-2017 NHL Season, Discussion of Abortion, Family Members as Characters, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Queer Themes, Very minor appearances of Jake Marchment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 308,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne83/pseuds/ariadne83, https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: World Juniors 2016 is a mess, and it leads to so much more than Dylan and Mitch could ever have imagined. They're just lucky they have so many people to help them figure things out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -Incredible, effusive thanks to S. and D. for enthusiastically alpha reading as we wrote, and to J. for agreeing to beta the whole thing even when we told her how long it was. They're heroes, every one of them, and this story would not be even close to what it is without their help.
> 
> -This fic begins at the 2016 World Junior Championship, and then continues to take place over the rest of the 2015-2016 season and into the 2016-2017 season. It spans a little over a year.
> 
> -The entire fic is finished and edited; it will be posted in daily chunks. It's 43 chapters. We'll keep posting until it's all up.
> 
> -The main pairing here is Dylan/Mitch; however, secondary pairings of Connor McDavid/Ryan Nugent-Hopkins and Ryan Strome/John Tavares get some screen time. There are a few other pairings as well, but they're in the background.
> 
> -This is a world in which some but not all men can get pregnant. The world is still in the process of figuring out how to test for it. 
> 
> -The fic contains references to sexual activity between seventeen and eighteen year olds. The only people who have on-screen sex are 18+ throughout the fic.
> 
> -Most of the hockey games referenced in the fic did not happen IRL the way we wrote them. It's very possible that the Centennial Classic is, in fact, the only accurate one. (Most of the time we were writing ahead of ourselves, and also there is a large wish fulfillment component in the way hockey happens in the fic.) Same goes for injuries; if you see something in the fic and think "wait, that's not when/how that happened!" we know. We ask you to please just roll with it.
> 
> -Comments on this fic are moderated. Some of the things we wrote about are intensely personal, so we want the chance to look at comments before they're released into the wild.
> 
> -Title is from "I and Love and You" by The Avett Brothers.

They lose.

Dylan can't really think of anything when the final buzzer goes off. They lose, and they have to live with it, but right now he feels like he's got one more shift in him, one more chance to take to the ice and tie it up, give his guys a shot at a win. He has the bizarre urge to ask Coach to let them at it, to put Mitch on his wing and Chabot behind him, to let the three of them weave and deke and slice through the Finnish team, just one more time, one more shot.

He walks into the locker room and doesn't say a word.

Mitch sits next to him, after, when they've stripped and showered and pulled their clothing back on. Dylan feels like his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, like figuring out how to speak would require prying his lips open and pulling the words out by force. He's just not up for it, so he's grateful that Mitch presses their knees together without saying anything.

Then again, Mitch has always known exactly how to deal with Dylan. Dylan's just glad that he mostly uses his powers for good now.

"Let's go back to the room," Mitch says, voice low, when Dylan finally manages to take a breath that doesn't shake around in his ribcage. "I've got the tequila we got at the duty-free. Let's get sloppy drunk and mess around."

"Yeah," Dylan says, almost surprised at how normal his voice sounds. "Yeah, let's do that."

Mitch gives him a thin, tight-lipped smile and stands, holding his hand out like he's going to help Dylan up. He's not that messed up, not really, but he grabs for Mitch's hand anyway and lets him hold on. Maybe he holds on right back; neither of them are going to tell.

The tequila they'd picked up on the flight into the country was supposed to be for their victory celebration, but Dylan's not naive enough to think that Mitch didn't have this scenario in the back of his head when he'd grabbed it off the shelf and raised an eyebrow in the airport shop. It'll work just as well at getting them miserable-drunk as it would have happy-drunk, so Dylan holds the two plastic cups from the bathroom steady while Mitch pours them both a healthy amount and tops it off with a splash of Sprite.

"To cut it," he says solemnly, then grins when Dylan raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at their glasses. "What, think I should cut it more?"

"I'd like to get to the 'messing around' part of this before we get too drunk to do that, so yeah," Dylan says dryly.

Mitch laughs a little and pours more Sprite into each cup. "Happy?"

"Not even close," Dylan says. He hands Mitch one of the cups and cautiously clinks them together. "Bottoms up."

Dylan takes a sip and grimaces. The tequila is kind of terrible, but he's not sure why he was expecting any different from bargain-basement alcohol. He drinks the whole cup anyway, watching Mitch do the same. Mitch spills a little down his chin and onto the collar of his shirt, and Dylan really wants to lick it off. There's nothing stopping him, so Dylan sets his cup down, tilts Mitch's face up with one hand, and leans in to trace his tongue across Mitch's skin.

"Skipping to the good part?" Mitch asks, his voice right on the edge of breaking.

"You want me to wait?" Dylan asks, breathing the words over Mitch's pulse point.

Mitch shakes his head. "We have to do a lot of waiting during the season."

"Yeah," Dylan agrees. "So no waiting. Let's just do this."

They've talked about it endlessly, over the phone and over Skype and a couple of times in person. They've talked about what they've already tried, and what they want to try, and looked up positions, and researched which lube goes with which type of condom. Dylan's talked until he's blue in the balls.

"Romantic," Mitch says dryly, but when Dylan pulls back a little to roll his eyes at him, Mitch's face is pink and he's smiling.

"You want romance, you're probably gonna be waiting a while," Dylan says. "We've been over how I kinda suck at that." He leans in to mouth at Mitch's neck again. "Good at other things, though."

"Yeah, well, I love you," Mitch counters, a little breathless. "So deal with your feelings, Stromer."

Dylan buries his smile against Mitch's throat. It's not the first time Mitch has said it, and it's not like Dylan's never said it back. They've been together since they stopped hating each other, pretty much, but it's not often they get to say important shit to each other in person. "Yeah, whatever. I love you too, so you should definitely fuck me tonight."

The thing is, even after all the talking, Mitch isn't 100% convinced that Dylan means it when he says he's ready to get well and truly fucked. So Dylan makes up his mind to prove it once and for all.

Mitch goes still for a moment before bringing a hand up to thread into Dylan's hair. "You sure?"

"Way beyond sure. I've been practising."

Mitch's hand tightens in his hair. "Practising," he repeats, voice a little unsteady. "You've been practising getting fucked."

"Not as good when it's just me and my toys," Dylan says. "That's what I hear, anyway."

Mitch's other hand trails down Dylan's spine to rest in the small of his back, and suddenly Dylan is completely sure that they're both wearing too much clothing. He pulls back a little and flashes a grin at Mitch before stripping out of his shirt. "You too, c'mon."

Mitch chooses to mouth at Dylan's chest instead, though. Dylan groans a little before pushing back. "I'll go jerk off in the bathroom if you don't strip too," he bluffs.

"No fucking way," Mitch says, and fumbles with his belt buckle.

Dylan grins and gets up, taking a few steps back before pointing at Mitch. "Naked," he says, as sternly as he can manage, before kicking off his shoes and working his clothes off.

Mitch keeps staring for a minute before he gets with the program. Dylan's starting to wonder if they should've gotten naked _before_ they started drinking. He doesn't feel drunk, not really, but he's definitely feeling not all the way sober, and it's easy for Mitch to get distracted by nakedness when neither of them has been drinking. He _is_ finally peeling out of his clothes, though, so Dylan figures he can only complain so much.

When Mitch is showing enough skin for Dylan's satisfaction, he shoves him back on the bed and grabs the bottle of tequila. "Shots," he announces, and he sees Mitch's eyes widen a little when it clicks, about half a second before Dylan pours a little of the tequila into the dip of Mitch's collarbone. Or, well, he tries to, anyway; he's never actually done this before, so he maybe misjudges how much tequila will fit. Whatever, they'll sleep in the other bed anyway.

Dylan sucks the sour liquor off Mitch's skin and then keeps going up his neck just to be sure he got it all. Mitch groans when Dylan's teeth close on his ear lobe. "Your turn," he says, right into Mitch's ear, and leans back to admire the dazed look on Mitch's face before he blinks it away and grabs for the tequila. He presses Dylan down and slops some vaguely over his abs before sticking his tongue in Dylan's belly button. 

Dylan fights the urge to squirm or laugh. If he admits he's ticklish, Mitch wins. He can't help jerking just a little, though, and the tequila runs down towards the crease of his hip. Mitch follows it with his mouth slowly, like he's maybe trying to kill Dylan with anticipation.

Mitch stops with his chin resting on Dylan's thigh. "So, are you going to show me what you've been practising? Or are you saving it for the big finale?"

"You're in the way," Dylan points out.

Mitch rolls over onto his back, taking the tequila with him.

Dylan gets up, laughing at Mitch when he whines. "Lube," he says, unzipping the pocket in his suitcase that he hasn't opened since they got here. "Lots of lube. So much lube."

"Okay, lube," Mitch says agreeably. He sits back, apparently happy to sip tequila and avoid interfering with Dylan's _process_ , at least for now.

Dylan tosses the lube at him. "Stick that under your arm or something," he says. "It sucks when it's cold."

"Where are you going?" Mitch whines.

"To get a towel," Dylan says. "It's gonna get messy." He grins when Mitch groans.

He doesn't waste time in the bathroom; he grabs the towel he'd used in the morning from the floor and walks back into the bedroom. He stops dead when he takes in the bed, though, because Mitch is dripping lube onto his fingers, and he smirks at Dylan as he he starts stroking himself.

"Had to test if it was warm enough," Mitch says.

Dylan has to force himself to swallow. "Looks like it's good," he manages.

Mitch slides his hand down slow over his dick. "Get over here before I get started without you."

"Thought that was my job," Dylan says, walking over towards the bed. He leans down to kiss Mitch, as wet and filthy as he can manage, and reaches down to squeeze Mitch's lube-slick hand tight around his dick.

Mitch breaks first, turning his head to the side. "Fuck, don't. I won't last."

Dylan pecks him on the lips one more time before pulling away. He grabs the lube from where it's been pressed against Mitch's leg and climbs onto the bed, spreading the towel out and kneeling on it.

"Oh god," Mitch chokes out. "Babe, you look... fuck."

"I haven't even gotten started yet," Dylan says, raising an eyebrow.

Mitch groans. " _I know_."

"Maybe take your hand off your dick," Dylan advises. He waits until Mitch does before he lays back on the bed, arranging himself so he's comfortable, one foot planted on the bed and the other splayed out to the side. He closes his eyes so he can focus on relaxing, rather than watching for Mitch's response. There'll be time for that later, when Dylan's riding him.

The lube is warm enough that Dylan doesn't feel the need to wait before he starts. He squirts a messy puddle of it onto his abs before tossing the bottle back towards Mitch, and then drags his fingers through it, getting them nice and slick.

He can't help hearing Mitch's breath speed up when he starts pressing a finger inside. He has to concentrate, though, because it's always a little weird at first, before his body remembers what's going on and lets him relax into it. The sooner he can get past the weird part, the better. Dylan takes a couple of long, even breaths and slides his finger in deeper, the tip of his second finger already massaging his hole.

"Fuck," Mitch says, dragging it out. "Dyls."

Dylan breathes through the stretch as he goes to add another finger. "You okay, Marns?"

"Do you have any idea how hot this is?" Mitch asks, and there's a sort of wondering tone in his voice. "Watching you—it's like. Like, babe, porn's never gonna do it for me again."

"Somehow I doubt you'll be saying that in a couple months when you haven't fucked anyone except Rosy Palmer."

"I'll just ask you to Skype me and do this," Mitch replies.

Dylan's cock twitches and he closes his eyes. "You want to watch me all the time, huh?"

"Not just watch, but yeah," Mitch pants.

Dylan keeps going, keeps working himself over. The slide of two fingers is easy enough that he starts teasing himself with a third. He pulls his fingers out completely to dip them in the lube on his stomach, and when he goes back and presses three in, Mitch lets out a groan. "How are you even real?"

"Hard work and determination," Dylan says, but he can hear how breathless his voice is. Speaking of hard work, Dylan scissors his fingers and bears down. "Oh, fuck," he breathes out.

"Is it good?" Mitch asks, from much, much closer than Dylan had last seen him. He opens his eyes, and yeah, Mitch has scooted across the bed, and his eyes are zeroed in on where Dylan's fingers are pumping in and out of himself.

"Yes," Dylan hisses. "I want—help me out?" Dylan's almost there, he can feel it. If he were at home he'd be slicking up one of his smaller toys already.

"Shit, god, yes," Mitch stutters out. He plants a hand next to Dylan's head and leans in to kiss him, messy and hard, before grabbing for the lube.

Dylan slips his fingers out and lets Mitch take over. Somehow it feels like so much more—two of Mitch's fingers fill him up more. Maybe it's just that he has hockey hands or maybe Dylan's tightened up, a little nervous now that they're actually here.

"God," Mitch whispers, sounding a little broken. "Dylan."

Dylan drags him in for a kiss. This is—he's wanted this for _so long_. "More," he says, right against Mitch's mouth. "C'mon, babe, give me another one."

Mitch rests his head on Dylan's shoulder and does as he's told. It takes a minute to adjust to the stretch, but that's not a bad thing. Being this close to Mitch could never be bad. Mitch leans down to mouth at Dylan's neck, and the angle of his fingers changes just enough to make Dylan's toes curl. He lets out a noise that would be embarrassing if anyone else were to hear it, and Mitch shudders against him.

"You're fucking amazing," Mitch says in his ear.

Dylan's past talking so he rolls his hips, hoping Mitch gets the message. Mitch keeps moving his fingers, and Dylan whines until Mitch nips at his earlobe. "Are you sure?"

Dylan nods frantically, and bites Mitch's neck.

"Lemme just," Mitch says, pulling his fingers out and wrapping his slick hand around Dylan's hip. "Condom? In your bag?"

Dylan groans in frustration and flips him over, looking down at him. "I'm clean. I haven't—it's just you."

Mitch lifts a hand to grip the back of Dylan's neck. "I know, babe, and me too, I just thought..."

" _Please_ ," Dylan groans. He's waited so long, and he wants this so bad. Stopping even for a moment seems impossible. "If you need," he says, burying his face in Mitch's neck. "I have them. If. If you want."

They've both heard the lectures, over and over. Always wrap it up, people lie about their history; always wrap it up, don't take any chances. Being with Mitch has never felt like a chance, a risk. "I love you," Dylan mumbles, closing his eyes against the weight of it.

Mitch kisses him. "Okay, but we could still—I love you."

"Tell me," Dylan says. "God, if you want me to go get it, tell me now, Mitch." His thighs are trembling; so are his hands. He needs Mitch more than he thinks he's needed anything else in his life.

Mitch makes a frustrated noise. He's rock hard against Dylan's thigh.

"It's okay," Dylan assures him. "Whatever you want, it's okay."

"Okay, okay, just," Mitch says, taking a deep breath. "We'll do it like this, yeah? Like this."

"Please," Dylan breathes. He gets that Mitch wants to look out for him, wants to make sure time and time again that Dylan wants him, wants this, is ready for everything they are to each other, but sometimes he wishes Mitch were a fraction more selfish.

Mitch hauls him down for a kiss and runs his free hand down Dylan's back. He pushes his fingers back into Dylan easily, quickly, before pulling out and reaching down. The blunt press of his dick against Dylan's hole isn't new, exactly; he'd meant it when he said he's been practicing, and he'd worked his way up to some sizable toys. But the angle's different, and Dylan doesn't have to try to keep anything in place. All he has to do is press down and breathe into Mitch's neck, listening to him fall apart just as much as Dylan feels like he's going to.

"Oh my god," Mitch chokes out when Dylan shifts, rising up on his knees a little before starting to slide down again.

Dylan pauses, giving himself a minute to get used to the slight drag of skin-on-skin. "Fuck, I know." Silicone doesn't feel like this; porn doesn't give anything back. He's been thinking about it, sure, but nothing he'd dreamed up had prepared him for the way he can feel each of Mitch's fingers pressing into his hips, or the way the sight of Mitch's mouth falling open on a groan punches him right in the chest.

He tries his best to set a rhythm, but even the smallest movements feel brand new and overwhelming. Mostly Dylan just shudders and tries to hang on when Mitch bucks his hips.

"Move," he finally begs, grinding his hips in a circle. "Just. I just need—"

"I've got you," Mitch says, and he's not much more coordinated than Dylan is, but he starts moving in earnest.

Dylan can feel warmth building in the pit of his stomach already. All of this is so overwhelming there's no way he's going to last long.

"This is," Mitch says. He's breathing hard, and he's flushed all the way down his chest. "God, Dylan, you're incredible."

"Please," Dylan replies desperately, bracing his hands on Mitch's shoulders and pushing back into his thrusts.

"Babe, you gotta," Mitch says. He lets go of Dylan's hip and reaches for Dylan's cock, and Dylan has no idea how he's got the coordination to keep thrusting while jerking Dylan off, but it's so good he lets out a choked moan. He can't do anything but go with it, rocking back onto Mitch's cock and forward into his hand. When he comes it feels like he's been hit by a truck, and Mitch isn't far behind him, making so much noise he's almost screaming.

Dylan drops when Mitch finally groans and lets his hips fall to the bed, and he lays there trying to catch his breath for a few minutes. He feels Mitch wrap his arms around him, and Dylan buries his face in Mitch's neck. "We're good at that," he mumbles.

Mitch doesn't reply for a minute, too busy catching his breath, but when he does he laughs. "We should do that a hundred times a day."

Dylan doesn't even try to hide how smug he's feeling. "Told you."

Mitch snorts and bites his lip; it's pretty obvious he's trying not to bust out into a fit of giggles.

"What?"

"Dude, that line about us having great chemistry—I'm never going to be able to say that with a straight face again," Mitch says.

Dylan starts laughing, and that sets Mitch off, too. They're a sweaty, sticky mess, shaking against each other with laughter, and honestly, Dylan's feeling pretty good about how everything turned out. The gold medal would have been fucking amazing, if he's being honest with himself, but this... he can't be upset about this.

When he can talk without cracking up, Dylan says, "Why don't we just stay here until our flight? Stay naked for like three days?"

"Room service and sex," Mitch says. "I like the sound of it."

Dylan kisses him and rolls to the side, grimacing as Mitch's dick pulls loose. The post-orgasm mess isn't the _most_ fun part.

Then he glances at Mitch. "Uh. I think you've got something on your chin."

Mitch wipes at it automatically with the back of his hand, and only afterward does the context seem to kick in. "Fuck, Dyls."

"Yeah," Dylan says, watching as Mitch flicks his eyes up to meet Dylan's gaze before bringing his hand to his mouth and licking it off. "Uh. Fuck."

"Another shot," Mitch says, grinning up at Dylan. "Then round two?"

Dylan grins. "I'm not doing a body shot this time."

Mitch raises an eyebrow and gestures to the mess all over his chest. "I think you already have that covered."

"Well, maybe I should clean up my mess," Dylan says, scooting down so he can lick his way up Mitch's chest. He has the funny feeling the shots are going to wait until after round two.


	2. Chapter 2

Dylan knows that slumps come and go, but five weeks after World Juniors, he finally admits that he's hit one _hard_ and has no idea how to fix it. He's exhausted in a way he can't ever remember being before, even when he was hitting that really bad growth spurt at fourteen and still trying to play on three teams and keep his grades up. His reaction time suffers for it, and he keeps missing passes by a fraction of a second. He sighs, annoyed, when he reaches his stick out just as the puck whizzes past it, and he skates it down halfheartedly. Again.

"Too slow," Brinksy shouts as he flies past, nudging the puck away before Dylan can get to it. "Pick it up, Stromer!"

"Showoff," Dylan mutters. He's not mad about Brinksy getting to medal, not anymore. Brinksy had been weird and guilty when they'd first gotten back, but as soon as Dylan had realised that, he'd felt bad about making Brinksy feel bad. One shared bag of Doritos later, and they were back to their normal habits of chirping the shit out of each other.

Coach blows his whistle and has them all line up so he can toss out the next exercise, and Dylan lines up on the left, waiting his turn to receive a pass and one-time it into the net. Brinksy ends up paired with him, and he grins sharply as he gives Dylan the go-ahead to start skating. It feels a little weird, for some reason, pushing off and heading to the net. Dylan's not dizzy, not exactly, but he feels like he's almost dizzy. Like he's getting sick, and he's one germ away from collapsing onto the ice.

"Oi," Brinksy calls, and Dylan skates into position on autopilot. Brinksy puts the pass right on his tape, and Dylan shifts to adjust for his shot.

The dizziness hits him in a wave, there and gone in the slap of his stick, and Dylan blinks his eyes and watches the puck careen into the corner. It doesn't get within two meters of the net.

"Yo," Brinksy says, skating over. "Stromer, what gives?"

"I don't know," Dylan mutters. He's gripping his stick and leaning a little bit, because honestly, he's not sure he won't end up on his ass if he tries to skate away right now.

"Jesus," Brinksy says as Dylan teeters a little. He drops his stick and his gloves to the ice and gets an arm around Dylan's waist. For such a small dude, he's surprisingly solid. "Hey, Coach! Need a hand!"

There's a flurry of people for a few minutes, Coach and then the trainers, and Brinksy stays by his side the whole time, arm supportively holding Dylan up. Brinksy helps him skate slowly towards the bench when Andy, the head trainer, decides he needs a full physical. He lets go once they're off the ice, but he still follows Dylan down the tunnel and into the medical room.

"I'm good," Dylan says as he hoists himself onto the exam table. "Thanks, man."

Brinksy shakes his head. "You'd better not have the flu," he says sternly. "I don't want to have to call your better half and tell him you're puking too much to talk to him, and that you let it get bad enough that you almost puked on the ice. He'll be so offended on behalf of the ice."

Dylan snorts. "Marns doesn't like our ice enough to get mad if I puked on it. Which I didn't."

"I definitely meant Davo," Brinksy says, grinning. "Marns is your _worse_ half. Keep up."

"That's not how math works," Dylan says, but he's laughing now, and Brinksy looks pleased with himself. "Go away, Brinks. I probably just caught some virus thing on the plane back from Finland. I'll be fine in a few days."

"You'd better be," Brinksy says, pointing at him. "Davo will be so disappointed in all of your life choices if I tell him you almost puked on the ice. Don't make me."

He heads back out of the room as Andy walks in. He gives Dylan a friendly smile and runs through a whole bunch of questions before having Dylan strip down to his UnderArmour for a physical exam. Andy doesn't say much as he's poking and prodding, but there's a little crease between his eyebrows that Dylan's not liking at all. 

"So you've been feeling sick since you got back from Finland, but you didn't come to us before now?" Andy asks after he nods for Dylan to sit back down.

Dylan winces. "No? I mean, I figured I was just tired from the tournament, and the season always gets tougher the further into it we get. I only figured I was actually getting sick a few days ago, honest."

"Okay," Andy says. "Well, we're gonna draw blood, but that takes a few days, so we'll do a urine test too. We can rule out you picking up anything from anyone overseas at least."

Dylan shrugs and sticks his arm out. "Go for it."

Andy nods and draws two vials of blood, scribbling something on a notepad before handing Dylan a plastic cup and pointing him to the bathroom. When Dylan finishes and hands him the cup, Andy nods again. "We're just going to look for the obvious stuff, so it shouldn't take too long. If it comes back clean, well, we'll go from there."

"Sounds good," Dylan says. "Can I, like, go shower and whatever? I'll come back, I just would love to not be all sweaty if I'm not gonna be on the ice."

"Shower with a buddy," Andy advises. "Grab one of the equipment guys if your teammates aren't done skating yet. You probably won't pass out in the showers, but better safe than sorry, right?"

"Fun," Dylan says, making a face. "Got it, Doc. I'll be back when I'm less gross."

The guys are in various states of undress when Dylan gets into the locker room. Brinksy raises his eyebrows at Dylan, so Dylan makes his way over. "I had to pee in a cup," he says, making a face. "I'm showering while Andy figures out what's going on, and then I'm gonna head over there and see what he says."

"Let me guess: he wants you to shower with friends," Brinksy says, jerking his head at the showers. Dylan nods, and Brinksy shrugs. "Everyone's already been in there. Grab your shit and I'll go sit with you."

"I'll just get—"

"You'll get your shit and you'll go take a shower, and you'll let me tell you about the stupid shot Marchy tried to pull," Brinksy says, and Dylan's always kind of figured that Brinksy would end up with a letter on his chest some day. It's moments like these that really seal the deal.

His shower is, thankfully, uneventful, other than Brinksy's retelling of Marchment's failed trick shot attempt. Dylan's sorry he missed it, but honestly, he'll trade having seen it for figuring out what's been going on with himself lately. He's a little relieved to know that Andy will have an answer for him soon, and he'll take whatever they prescribe him as long as it makes him feel better.

"Thanks," Dylan says after he's dried off and dressed again. "Hope I didn't give you my weird flu thing."

"I will kill you if you did," Brinksy says, grinning at him. "Nobody will ever find your body, Stromer." He reaches out to punch Dylan's arm. "Text me later, man. Let me know if I need to send condolences to your other halves for needing to murder you and leaving them with each other."

"At least that would be one whole," Dylan says, clapping Brinksy's shoulder as he stands up. "Go study or something. I'll talk to you later."

"Fuck off," Brinksy shouts after him, and Dylan feels better than he has in a while as he walks towards the medical room.

Andy's sitting on the little stool in the room when Dylan knocks, and when he looks up, Dylan's good mood disappears. The little crease on his forehead is bigger now, and that can't bode well. Dylan's gaze drops to the printouts Andy has in front of him, and all of a sudden he's back to that dizzy feeling.

"You're going to be fine," Andy says, and that's—okay, Dylan hadn't even known he'd been worried about it being _that_ serious until he's suddenly breathing a little easier. "Come in, Dylan. Shut the door."

"You're not making me feel like I'm gonna be fine," Dylan says, swallowing thickly as he does as asked. He climbs back up on the table when Andy nods at it, and then just waits as Andy looks back down at the papers.

Finally, he sighs and looks at Dylan. "Did you opt into any of the extra medical testing at the combine or the draft?"

Dylan blinks. "I—no," he says. "I did all of the mandatory testing stuff, but that's it." He makes himself take a breath. "So it's, what, some sort of disease? Was I born with it?"

"Dylan," Andy says carefully. "You're G-positive."

"I'm," Dylan says, blinking a few times to process what he's hearing. The gene doesn't run in his family; his dad isn't G+, and when Ryan had opted into the extra testing at his own combine and come up negative, Dylan had figured he didn't need to bother.

The implications of what Andy's telling him hits him suddenly, and Dylan has to grip the edge of the table to keep himself from swaying right off the edge of it. "Wait. Andy."

"I tested the sample twice when it showed up," Andy says, keeping his voice completely calm. "You're pregnant, Dylan. I mean, we'll do the blood test, too, but I'm as confident as I can be making the call."

Dylan has no fucking idea what to say to that. He's doesn't even know if he _can_ say anything; his lungs feel like they're trying to exit through his throat.

"You have options," Andy says, still in that tone of voice that a vague part of Dylan's brain registers as _talking to scared puppies_. "And you don't have to make a choice right now, okay?"

Dylan just nods along.

Andy sighs. "Look, the waivers you signed mean that I can technically discuss your condition with the rest of the staff, but I'm not going to say anything just yet. I'll tell Coach you have a sinus infection and that you're off the ice until at least Tuesday, and we can reevaluate then."

Dylan wheezes when he tries to thank Andy. He takes a minute, sucks in a breath, and tries again. He needs to be alone right now. Or—he needs to talk to Mitch, really, really badly, and he's definitely not doing that here. "Got it."

Andy claps him on a shoulder. "You have a good head on your shoulders, Dylan. Whatever decision you make, I have your back." Then Andy snorts, giving him a wry smile. "Actually, I'm a little relieved it's you in here, not DeBrincat."

Dylan chokes. "That—no. Brinksy's, like, twelve."

"He's only just turned eighteen, that's for sure, which means his paperwork would legally obligate me to tell his parents." Andy grimaces. "Thanks for being an adult, I guess."

Dylan shakes his head. "No Debrin-kittens here."

"Here's hoping," Andy says fervently. "Do you need a ride home?"

"No thanks. I just—I need to be alone right now," Dylan blurts out. Andy's already done enough, and the last thing Dylan needs right now is for someone on the team to drive him home and try to make awkward small talk. He needs to be not here, so he can call Mitch.

Fuck, Mitch is—what time is it? He has a game tonight. If Dylan waits too long, Mitch will be home for his nap, and then Dylan won't be able to talk to him until tomorrow. They don't usually talk after games.

Andy claps him on the shoulder again. "Go home, kid. I'll take care of talking to Coach. And I don't want to see your face here until Tuesday."

All Dylan can think is that it's Thursday, and Tuesday seems like a long time away. He just nods and heads back to the locker room for his stuff. He packs his gear up methodically before pulling his coat out of his stall and shrugging into it. He grabs his phone and shoves it into his pocket, but takes it right back out to text Brinksy. _no flu no murder we both win_ , he taps out, and then he grabs his keys and his bag and heads for his car.

Dylan doesn't remember driving home or going to his room, but here he is on his bed, with the door firmly shut and a pillow crushed against his chest. It's barely noon, so everyone is out of the house; there's really not going to be a better time to get this over with. He pulls out his phone, texts a question mark at Mitch, and waits. It doesn't take long for Mitch to reply, a single question mark in return, which is great, honestly. Dylan's already had long enough to think and he's starting to freak out. Mitch is going to be so pissed at him; this whole mess is Dylan's fault. Getting drunk and fucking around was Mitch's idea to begin with, but Dylan's the one who said they didn't need to worry about protection.

Fuck.

_can u call me when ur done w shit for the day_ , he texts. Of course, his phone rings immediately.

Dylan only lets his thumb hover over the screen for a second before he answers and blurts out, "I'm sorry."

"Um," Mitch says. "What?"

"I fucked up, Marns. After we lost in Finland—I was a mess."

"We both were," Mitch says, sounding confused. "Babe, what's going on? Are you okay? You don't sound okay."

Dylan squeezes the pillow in his lap. God, if Mitch fucking ends up hating him for this, if they end up back where they used to be—just, fuck. "I'm pregnant."

There's a few seconds of silence before Mitch exhales. "Oh, shit."

"I know," Dylan chokes out. 

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Mitch says miserably. "I should've been more careful."

"What—no, I'm the one who said we should, and you kept asking if I was sure. This is— _I_ fucked up." Dylan feels like he's either going to choke or tear his pillow in half.

"We were both there. Pretty sure you couldn't score this one without me," Mitch says. Dylan's sure he's aiming for a chirp, but he can't muster up a laugh without the choking feeling coming back.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm so fucked. The trainer put me on IR until at least Tuesday, and I guess I'll be no-contact after that, and..."

"What are we gonna do?" Mitch asks. "I mean, I don't—I'm not gonna tell you to keep it, not if you don't want to, Dyls, but..."

"I don't know," Dylan says helplessly. "I mean. Fuck, Mitch, we're—this is so fucked. We couldn't do it, right? I mean, Arizona, Toronto, not exactly near each other."

Mitch is quiet. "I mean, it wouldn't be easy."

"Not even close," Dylan agrees. "But, like. Fuck _easy_. Would it even be possible? Because I am not doing this without you. I don't know if I'm doing this at all, but I'm _definitely_ not doing it on my own."

"Of course not," Mitch replies, sounding a little offended. "Jesus, Dyls, you think I'd be not there? As much as I could be, anyway?"

"No," Dylan says, clutching his pillow. "Just, like, logistics and shit."

"That's a big word," Mitch says, like he's trying to chirp again, but he sounds distracted.

Dylan has learned to be wary of that tone of voice. "What are you doing?"

"Hmm," Mitch says, and then, "What are you doing at, like, 11:30 tonight?"

"Sleeping?" Dylan guesses. "It's, like, all I do. Why, got something more pressing to do between now and then?" Dylan glances at the calendar and remembers—right, game. "Or, no, you have to go nap. Sorry."

"Shut up," Mitch says. "I have to go tell Coach I'm fucking off for the weekend, and I have to throw some shit in a duffel bag, but if you're gonna be sleeping later on I'll catch a cab to your billet when the plane lands."

Dylan holds his phone really tightly. "You're—what."

"I'm flying down," Mitch says patiently. "We just had this talk, babe. Not doing it alone, right?"

"Like. What the fuck, Marns?" Dylan takes a deep breath and blinks a few times. "You can't just—I mean, technically you can? But?"

"Do I need to call a Raddysh?" Mitch asks, sounding like he's only half-teasing. "I bet a Raddysh would pick me up from the airport. They both like me."

"You have a game tonight," Dylan says. "And tomorrow. And then on Sunday." He shakes his head. "You'll be here Wednesday to lose to us anyway. We can just… wait?"

Mitch exhales. "I don't think waiting is the best plan. Coach won't be thrilled, but so fucking what?"

"We can't both fuck up our seasons," Dylan tries to argue.

Mitch sighs. "Look, if you actually don't want me there, tell me that. Tell me now and I'll cancel the flight. But if this is some sort of... I don't know. If it's anything other than you really not wanting to see me right now, I'm coming, Dyls."

Dylan's eyes start burning, and he scrubs at them with the back of his hand. "I'll see you tonight. I can pick you up, Mitch. I'm not concussed, just..."

"Pregnant," Mitch fills in softly.

"Yeah." Hearing Mitch say it makes it more real, somehow, and Dylan's chest tightens up.

"I'll call you back in, like, ten minutes, okay?" Mitch says after a minute of them breathing at each other. "I need to go get my head chewed off by Coach, but I'll call you when I'm on my way back to my billet."

"Yeah. Okay, I'll just." Dylan takes a breath. "Talk to you later, I guess."

"Ten minutes," Mitch promises. "Fifteen if he's extra pissed."

Dylan nods, then remembers Mitch can't see him. "Okay."

"I love you," Mitch says, confident like always.

"Love you too," Dylan replies. He waits for his phone to tell him the call has been disconnected, and then he drops it onto his bed and closes his eyes. Mitch coming sure as hell isn't going to un-fuck anything, but Dylan feels a little better knowing he's coming anyway. He wonders what Mitch is going to say to his coach—if he's going to actually give him some form of the truth, or it he's just going to tell him it's a family emergency.

Fuck. Family. Dylan feels warm all over just thinking it. Mitch means so much to him already, and they've done everything but actually say they're both in it for the long haul. They spent a lot of their draft night curled around each other on the spare bed in Connor's room while everyone else partied around them, figuring out how they were going to stay together across international borders and thousands of kilometers.

He has no idea what it would really be like, though, to have Mitch as his actual _family_ , in a way he doesn't have to explain over and over again. It would be nice, he thinks, to not have to use paragraphs to describe Mitch's place in his life. People would stop assuring him that his relationship is "just a phase" and that he'll "find a nice girl and settle down" in Arizona. Mitch being his family would mean not having to defend himself so much when he tells people this is permanent—that Mitch is always going mean something to him.

Dylan... kind of likes the idea of making this real and visible, of having something with Mitch that nobody can deny or ignore. And even if the worst happens, even if somehow they grow apart in the NHL and break up, they'll always have a reason to come back together. Fuck it, Dylan thinks wildly, maybe it won't end at all. Maybe they'll even get married someday.

Dylan's still giggling a little when Mitch calls back. "Distract me," he says. "I keep thinking about things and thinking is terrible."

Mitch sucks in a breath. "You're in a better mood."

"I might be stress crying," Dylan says before he can stop himself. "Probably not, though. That doesn't sound like a thing I would do."

"Babe," Mitch says fondly.

"So your coach didn't murder you," Dylan says. "That's good."

"I'm going to be doing suicide sprints for a week," Mitch says. "And he's gonna scratch me for however many games I miss once I'm back, too." Dylan makes a face and a noise, and Mitch just snorts. "Yeah, that." There's a beat of silence, and then he adds, "Worth it."

"This is crazy," Dylan says. "Two years ago we hated each other. But now—"

"Well, we have great chemistry," Mitch finishes.

Dylan snorts a little. "Like, statistically freakish chemistry."

"Why just be good at something when you can be the best?" Mitch says, and Dylan can almost see the innocent look he's probably pulling right now.

"We're such overachievers," Dylan replies, choking a little on holding back his laughter.

"You and me, babe," Mitch replies.

"Tanking at World Juniors, winning at life?" Dylan says before he can stop himself.

"We come out on top of that one, no questions asked."

Dylan snorts. "Pretty sure I was on the bottom for three days straight."

"Mmm, _yeah_ you were," Mitch says, and Dylan can hear him grinning. "Is it fucking freezing down there? Should I bring a million hoodies?"

"It's a solid negative ten in real degrees," Dylan says breezily. "I'll warm you up, though."

"Good," Mitch says. "No matter how many pairs of socks I wear, my toes are always cold in the winter. I'm gonna use you as a space heater."

They talk shit while Mitch packs his bag, and they keep talking when he gets in a cab. Mitch stays on while he walks through the airport, hangs up for three minutes while he goes through security, then calls back for the six minutes between the security checkpoint and walking to his gate. Dylan feels a little ridiculous, but also strangely better.

"Hey, I'm on the plane, and I'm pretty sure I'm the..." Mitch starts before pausing. Someone in the background says something before Mitch starts talking again. "Yeah, okay, last one on. They want me to sit down and shut up."

"Everyone wants that," Dylan interjects.

"Love you too, and I'll call you when I land in Chicago," Mitch says. "Last-minute layovers are terrible. Eat something, okay?"

He hangs up before Dylan can bitch about how he already has a mom, and also a billet mom. He is pretty hungry, though; he skipped out on lunch when he ran out of the trainers' room, and he did skate his ass off this morning. A sandwich probably would help with that.

He wanders to the kitchen and glances at the clock. It's a little after four, which means that his billet mom will probably be home soon. It's not like she'd think it was super weird to find Dylan having a pre-dinner snack, but he hurries through making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich anyway. Mitch can think whatever he wants; the sugar and the protein make a great post-skate snack. He'll be eating a real meal in a couple of hours anyway.

Dylan leans against the counter and takes a bite of the sandwich. He's not really shocked to find that he's suddenly super starving, so he doesn't hesitate to make himself a second sandwich when he finishes the first in what might actually be record time. He inhales the second one, too, and stares at the bread for a minute before deciding that if there was ever a day that called for a third sandwich, it was probably today.

He cleans up after himself and wanders back upstairs, half of his third sandwich in hand, when he hears a car pull into the driveway. Mitch's plane is probably going to land soon; it's not a long flight from London to Chicago.

Sure enough, Dylan's phone rings less than ten minutes after he shuts his bedroom door. "Good flight?" he asks as he picks up.

"Oh my god," Mitch says instead of answering the questions. "I read, like, six articles while we were in the air. Have you read up on what babies do to your body while they're in there?"

Dylan rolls his eyes. "Dude, you spent your flight researching. I spent it making a sandwich and then eating it, and then doing that two more times. No, I have no idea."

" _Dude_ ," Mitch says, and it's not the tone of voice where he's mocking Dylan for his word choices, which sets Dylan a little on edge right away. "Your hormones are going to fuck up your joints!"

"They're going to _what_ ," Dylan demands.

"They actually had the nerve to name a pregnancy hormone _relaxin_ ," Mitch hisses. "It makes everything squishy so you're, like, four times more likely to dislocate something."

" _Why_ ," Dylan says, horrified. "Oh my god, what, do I just not move the whole time or something?"

"I don't know, Dyls!" Mitch says. "It's for, like, childbirth? So the baby can get out without getting squashed?"

"Stop talking about that and tell me you found out shit that's not terrifying," Dylan demands.

He can hear Mitch take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, okay. Okay. There's some neat shit, too, let me pull up the reference thing so I don't fuck up the details."

"Good plan," Dylan agrees, settling back on his bed. "Lay it on me."

"So at five weeks," Mitch says, "the baby is shaped like a tadpole."

"We're having a frog baby," Dylan deadpans, and Mitch snorts into the phone.

"The baby's heart is dividing into chambers, and it's starting to beat, though it's still too weak to hear," Mitch reads from whatever baby website he found.

"Wait, it has a heart already?" Dylan presses his hand to his abs. He's not actually sure where in him the baby is, but that's probably close enough. It's not like he can feel it or anything.

"It's working on it," Mitch says. "Like, a super tiny heart, though. The article says it's only the size of an apple seed right now. The whole baby, not the heart."

"Wow. It's so fucking tiny but it's changing everything," Dylan observes.

"It's gonna get bigger," Mitch says after a moment.

Dylan nods a little. "And change things more."

"Yeah," Mitch says, and there's some weird tone in his voice that makes Dylan clutch at his bedspread a little. He clears his throat. "Also, hey, this says you might start feeling sick soon, but also that you might not. Apparently it depends on the baby's genetics or something."

"If I start getting sick, your genes suck," Dylan says immediately. "My genes have been successfully not making me sick for 18 years running, man, that's on you."

"Whatever," Mitch says dismissively. "My genes are awesome. I bet you'll feel even better than you normally do soon because of my amazing genetics."

"Oh, fuck off," Dylan says cheerily.

"That's the opposite of what I'm doing here," Mitch says, and that weird tone is back in his voice. Dylan makes himself take a deep breath, because he's not sure what Mitch is getting at, just that he's heading towards something. "Hey, Dyls, listen."

"Dylan!" he hears suddenly from the hallway. "Come and eat!"

"Marns, hey, dinner," he says, twisting his fingers deeper into his bedspread and not panicking, because _hey, Dyls, listen_ doesn't necessarily have to be followed by _I changed my mind and this isn't something I want to do with you_. "And then I should, like, do some reading. And tell my billets that you're crashing here for a few days, that'd probably be a good thing to clue them in on."

Mitch lets out a breath. "Yeah," he says. "I'm not taking off for a while yet. Text me what you're reading so we're both caught up."

"Okay," Dylan says, forcing his fingers to relax. "Love you."

"Love you," Mitch says back, instant and fond. "See you soon."

Dylan hangs up and drops his phone to his bed, forcing himself to take a few deep, even breaths before he leaves his room. He heads towards the kitchen and tries to convince himself he's hungry, that his stomach isn't churning itself into knots. He smells the lasagna coming out of the oven before he even makes it into the kitchen, though, and suddenly he's starving, like he's not already full of sandwiches and terror.

In hindsight, once he's full of lasagna, Dylan's a little embarrassed. Making grabby hands and inhaling food without even saying thanks is kinda rude.

"That was good," he ventures, and Mrs. Murphy laughs at him. "So, um," Dylan starts, "I know it's super last-minute, and I'll make up for it with extra chores or whatever you want but I kinda—I have to pick up Mitch from the airport. Tonight."

She blinks at him. "Mitch? Don't the Knights have games this weekend?"

"Yeah, well..." Dylan shrugs a little. "We're having..." He waves his hand around.

"Okay, honey," she says, and Dylan realises she thinks he means "a fight" when really he means "a baby."

"Yeah, so, um. Sorry to spring it on you, but he's here for the weekend, and I've, uh. Got clearance from the team to stay off the ice until Tuesday."

Her eyes go sharp. "You're not hurt."

"Not... really?" he tries.

"Dylan," she says in Mom voice.

"If it turns into something I'll let you know," he promises. "I'll definitely know one way or the other by the time Mitch flies out."

She sighs. "You're an adult, sweetie, but we're here if you need us," she finally says. Which means she probably won't call his mom on him, at least not yet. That's a bonus.

"Thanks," he manages. He glances at the clock, but there's still a while before he needs to leave. "Do you need me to do the dishes or anything? His flight lands late."

Mrs. Murphy takes pity on him and leaves him in the kitchen, up to his elbows in soap suds, but Dylan's not stupid enough to think that means she doesn't have questions. She's usually really good about not pressuring him, though, so he's pretty sure he won't have to worry about it until after Mitch leaves. He gets to work; it'll be nice to concentrate on something he can fix for a while.

For maybe the first time in his life, Dylan's disappointed when he runs out of dishes to wash. By the time he's gotten everything dried and put away, he's as calm as he's going to get, so he heads back up to his room to do some reading. He keeps safe search on, though; there are some things he doesn't want to know about.

He and Mitch text article links back and forth over the course of the next hour and a half; Mitch sends him the site he'd gotten the apple seed thing from, and it's kind of neat, seeing a pregnancy broken down that way. It's still huge and terrifying to apply that to himself, but Dylan's doing okay as long as he keeps it at least a little bit abstract.

He's trying to decide whether or not to click on an article about diet during pregnancy to figure out how it fits in with his hockey plan when his alarm goes off. Dylan rolls of the bed and grabs his car keys.

Mrs. Murphy is in the living room, so he pauses before he leaves. "Uh. I'm really sorry about springing this on you last-minute."

"You said that already, sweetie," she says. "But I appreciate it."

"We'll stay out of your hair," he promises. Like, really, really far out of her hair, because the thought of his billet parents overhearing any of what he and Mitch are going to have to discuss this weekend makes him queasy.

He drives through the city on autopilot, again. It's kind of a scary superpower. It doesn't take too long to get to the airport; Erie's only so big, and there's not a lot of traffic this late on a random Thursday night. He killed a lot of time back at the house, though, so by the time he parks Mitch is already texting that he's landed. He texts back that he's waiting in the arrivals lot and lays his head on the steering wheel to take some deep, calming breaths.

He's still like that when Mitch taps on the window. Dylan startles a little and unlocks the door, and Mitch tosses his duffel in the back before climbing into the passenger's seat. He leans over the center console, cups Dylan's face in his hands, and kisses him.

"Hi," Mitch says breathlessly when he breaks off the kiss. "You okay, babe? Need me to drive?"

"Still not concussed," Dylan says.

"No, but you were kinda sleeping on the steering wheel there."

Dylan gives him a wry smile. "I was freaking out on the steering wheel in case you decided in, like, the last half hour that you hate me."

Mitch's face gets that soft, gooey look. "Babe. I love you."

Dylan tips forward onto Mitch's shoulder. "I know, I just... this is big. I'm gonna get big, if we go through with it."

"Yeah, that seems to be par for the course." He can hear Mitch smiling.

"It'd be forever. You'd be stuck with me no matter what."

Mitch presses a kiss to his hair. "Goes both ways. And, you know, I'm pretty okay with it."

Dylan breathes in sharply and pulls back so he can looks at Mitch. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mitch grins, wide and goofy, and Christ, Dylan loves him.

"I think," Dylan says, "I mean. I was thinking—no-one can say we'll forget about each other after juniors, if we have this."

"We could just get married," Mitch says, like that's a thing he can just casually toss into conversation. "Like. If this isn't what we want right now, this—we can revisit it later on, but we could still get hitched."

Dylan frowns thoughtfully. "What, like, try it out and split up if it doesn't work?"

"No," Mitch says. "Like, having the baby isn't the only thing that'll keep us together, so if it's not something you actually want to go through with, I'm still into the idea of keeping you forever."

"So, wait, you want to marry me? Whether we keep it or not?" Dylan has to be sure he's hearing what he thinks he's hearing.

"I mean, I don't have a ring or anything, but yeah. Marry me."

Dylan takes off his seat belt and climbs into Mitch's lap. "You have no idea—I fucking hate it when people tell me I'll get over you. I don't want to."

"Right back atcha," Mitch says, settling his hands on Dylan's hips. "I'm pretty sure we've done all the 'getting over shit' in our relationship, and it was when we couldn't stand each other. We got over that, now we're golden."

Dylan looks down at Mitch smiling up at him and can't even help himself; he has to lean in and kiss him. "This is hands-down the most ridiculous thing I've ever done," he says against Mitch's mouth.

"Well, if you marry me, we'll have a long time to think of other ridiculous things that could top it," Mitch says, and Dylan realises he hasn't actually given an answer yet.

"Sounds good to me," Dylan replies, grinning. "Let's do it. Let's get married."

Mitch's smile is wide and bright enough that it's probably setting off security alarms inside the airport, but Dylan gives roughly zero fucks as he leans down to kiss Mitch again. Eventually, though, he has to break off so he can yawn. Mitch raises an eyebrow. "You sure you don't want me to drive?"

"It's been a long day," Dylan protests. "I can still drive, just don't expect anything more than crashing when we get home."

"It's the crashing I'm worried about," Mitch says mildly. "And hey, I'm just trying to be a good fiancé."

Dylan laughs a little. "Holy shit."

Mitch rubs his thumb down the side of Dylan's neck. "Let me take care of you."

Dylan bends down so he can tuck his face against Mitch's neck. It's a little awkward, but it's worth it. "Yeah, okay."

Mitch rubs Dylan's back. "Okay, then, my first order of business is switching places with you before you fall asleep on my lap."

"But you're comfortable," Dylan says.

Mitch laughs. "Usually you're telling me I'm too bony." He pokes Dylan's side a little. "If you let me drive us home, you can lay all over me in a real bed."

"Mmm." Dylan reluctantly opens the car door and climbs off Mitch. Mitch gets out after him and catches Dylan's hand, giving it a squeeze before he heads around to get in the driver's seat. 

"Hey," Mitch says as he buckles his seatbelt. "Put your address in before you fall asleep, okay?"

"Yeah," Dylan says, reaching for his phone. He's suddenly exhausted, which isn't really a shock; it's definitely been one of those days. It only takes him a minute to get Google Maps up and set. "I'm definitely gonna sleep," he warns Mitch as he puts the phone in the cupholder.

"I'll wake you up when we get there," Mitch says, shooting him a smile.

Dylan smiles back and closes his eyes, and then Mitch is shaking his shoulder gently. He blinks his eyes back open, and they're parked in front of his billet house. Dylan glances at his phone; it's after midnight, and he's completely wiped out.

"Bed," he moans, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Mitch laughs and follows him out, pausing to grab his duffel from the backseat before he follows Dylan into the house. Dylan looks around blearily, but it looks like the Murphys are asleep; he's grateful, partially because he would've felt guilty if they'd stayed up, but mostly because he's too tired to handle social interactions right now.

"C'mon," he says, and from there it's only a few minutes before he's stripping out of his clothes and climbing into bed. "Cuddle me," he demands sleepily, holding the sheets up. Mitch smiles and climbs in after him, and Dylan lays his head on Mitch's chest and is asleep again in seconds.


	3. Chapter 3

Mitch is on his phone when Dylan blinks himself awake. He's doing something that Dylan can't make out from his position sprawled all over Mitch's chest, but when he hums Mitch puts his phone on the bed and presses a kiss to Dylan's hair. "Morning."

"Morning," Dylan replies, rubbing his face on Mitch's shirt. "Who're you texting?"

Mitch snorts. "Nobody we know is awake right now unless they're already at practice, babe. I was reading."

Dylan feels like maybe he should move, but. Nah. Fuck it; he's comfortable, and Mitch is pushing his fingers into Dylan's hair, so he's going to stay right where he is, thanks. "More terrifying stuff about what my body is going to do over the next eight months if we go through with this?"

"No, I figured we could do that together later," Mitch says. "You make the best grossed-out faces, and I want to be able to see those as they happen."

"I could push you out of this bed," Dylan mutters.

"But you won't," Mutch says, completely confident. Dylan's not too proud to admit that Mitch is right.

"So if you're not texting and you're not loading up on horror stories about my joints, what're you doing?"

"Well," Mitch says, drawing the word out. "Remember that whole thing where I asked you to marry me?"

"No, I've forgotten between last night and right now," Dylan says dryly, but he's smiling so hard he has to turn and hide his face against Mitch's chest so he doesn't see it. He can feel it, probably, which is just as bad, but. It's the principle of it, or whatever.

Mitch taps his fingers gently against Dylan's head. "So if we take our passports and visas to the county clerk's office, they'll issue us a license, and we can get married here Monday before I have to leave again."

"Monday?" Dylan repeats, finally rolling off of Mitch so he can sit up. "Like, a few days from now, this coming Monday?"

"Or we can wait," Mitch says quickly. "I just thought, you know—"

"We don't have, like," Dylan starts, then fumbles for the rest of that sentence. "Rings. And you don't have a suit here. Wait, did you bring a suit?"

"No, I didn't shove one into my duffel bag," Mitch says. "You heard me list off everything I packed. There's gotta be someone on your team about my size, though. I'll just borrow something."

"Rings," Dylan says again.

Mitch shrugs a little. "Either we go looking today, or we just wait until our moms make us do it over again in, like. A church."

"Our moms are going to kill us," Dylan realises. "Holy shit, we're going to die."

"Worth it," Mitch says, grinning. "So, waiting on rings?"

Dylan shifts a little and frowns, hesitating until Mitch pokes him in the side. "Look, it's a little dumb, but—if we're doing this now, I want rings. Even if they're stupid ones."

"That's not dumb," Mitch says. "Weddings, rings. They go together, like... sticks and tape."

"I think they go together like _weddings and rings_ ," Dylan says dryly. "But, like. I mean it when I said they could be dumb ones. We can get better ones later or whatever."

Mitch looks suddenly serious. "If we're doing rings, uh. I mean, unless you want a different one later, I think whatever we go with now, I'll want to just… keep."

Dylan sort of wishes he was still laying on Mitch, because then Mitch wouldn't be able to see the goofy expression he's one hundred percent sure is spreading across his face right now. Then again, Mitch's face is doing something similar, so it's not the worst thing. "Yeah, that's. That sounds good."

"Good," Mitch says, leaning over to kiss him quickly. "Let's get up and get moving. We can go register for the license and then go look for rings."

The kitchen's empty when Dylan and Mitch get downstairs, which isn't exactly a surprise. It's not super early anymore—they took their time getting reacquainted, because it's been weeks since World Juniors. And knowing the Murphys, they probably cleared out on purpose, to give him space for whatever they think is going on. They're pretty quiet as they move around each other in the kitchen; Dylan gets the eggs and a frying pan out and sets Mitch up at the stove while he sets the table and makes a mountain of toast. Going by how much Dylan packed away last night they're going to need it.

His stomach growls, and Dylan pats it absently. "Settle down, I'm getting there."

Mitch freezes with egg goo sliding down his fingers, and Dylan's not sure how to respond to that. He'd been talking to his stomach, but—yeah, okay. Maybe he'd been talking to the baby, too, and that's... yeah.

"Feed me, Mitch," Dylan demands, trying his best to lighten the mood.

Mitch starts, but he tosses a grin over his shoulder a second later. "Yeah, yeah. You got jam for the toast, or is this whole state a butter-only heathen situation?"

Dylan laughs. "Babe, I'm gonna rock your world. You're in Pennsylvania; time to taste real apple butter."

Mitch's whole face lights up when Dylan sticks an apple-buttery slice of toast in front of his face. He makes a really indecent noise when he takes a bite out of it, and Dylan snatches the toast back, because he really, really needs Mitch to finish making the eggs.

It's weird, Dylan thinks. Twenty-four hours ago he didn't even know he was pregnant. Twelve hours ago he was still kind of in denial, and trying to ignore things. But when he woke up this morning, somehow he'd become a super pregnant machine who wants to eat everything in sight. And he's already had to pee, like, three times this morning, which is something to do with hormones, according to Google.

It's just. Kinda freaky that finding out seems to have flipped a switch in his body from "kinda sleepy but otherwise pretty good" to "fuck you, I am growing a person and you will obey me." Even if they don't go through with the pregnancy, it's not something he's likely to ever forget.

"Okay, you can stop trying to laser-death-stare me," Mitch says, cutting into Dylan's thoughts. "The eggs are ready."

"Good," Dylan says. "Let's eat."

They do. Even without the fact that Dylan's currently growing another person, they're both hockey players; they are both fully capable of utterly destroying a meal. He doesn't talk at all for the next fifteen minutes, because he's busy trying to fit as much into his mouth as humanly possible, but once he's done he looks up and gives Mitch a satisfied smile. "A+. Would fiancé again."

"No room for improvement, then?" Mitch teases

Dylan rests his chin on his hand. "Well, the distance sucks, but you fixed that one for now."

"I do what I can," Mitch says, not at all modestly.

Dylan stares at him until he starts to gross _himself_ out. "So. Courthouse?" he says abruptly, ducking his head.

"Let's do it," Mitch says. He's grinning from ear to ear when Dylan glances up at him, so he quickly looks pretty much anywhere else. He's so fucking gone for Mitch it's kind of ridiculous. Or, well, maybe it's perfectly fitting since they're getting married. Holy shit.

It doesn't take them long to clean up from breakfast and grab all of their identification stuff from Dylan's bedroom. Mitch had already looked into what they'd need to bring, and apparently their passports and visas are good enough for Erie County. Mitch kisses him before they leave the bedroom, and Dylan makes himself take a step back so they can actually get this show on the road.

"Okay, so, Google Maps me," Dylan says when they get into the car. "I don't actually know where the county courthouse is."

Mitch fiddles around on his phone for a second, and when it starts talking, Dylan pulls out of the driveway and heads for town. It's really not a long drive, but apparently Mitch's phone addiction is still thriving, because he picks Dylan's up out of the cupholder and starts fucking around on it as they go. He's not saying anything, which means he's probably not on Facebook, because that only ever leads to him laughing at himself and trying to explain cat memes out loud without showing Dylan the actual cat meme. There are easier ways to get his point across, is all Dylan's thinking.

Mitch waits until Dylan pulls the car into a parking spot downtown before shoving Dylan's phone back towards him. "What do you think?"

Dylan looks down and sees—huh. A ring. It's not fancy or anything, but it's made out of tungsten, which is probably good for, like, not bending it and shit. It's also not super shiny, which is another nice feature, because it probably won't require him to take it off and soak it in the ring cleaner like his mom makes his dad do once a week. "I like it," he says, swiping so he can see a picture of someone wearing it. "Can we get those at a store around here?"

Mitch grins and grabs the phone back, clicking a few more times before shoving the phone back at Dylan. "Amazon Prime," he says gleefully. "I even paid for the overnight shipping and Saturday delivery. We'll have them tomorrow."

Dylan stares for a minute before leaning back against his seat. "Did you just order our wedding rings from Amazon?"

"I did," Mitch confirms. "Or, well, I guess you did, whoops. Your phone."

Dylan can't help it; he cracks the fuck up. "It's a good thing you play decent hockey," he wheezes.

"What?" Mitch protests. "We order stuff in all the time! It's an important life skill."

"Yeah, if you have no fucking idea how to do anything yourself. Like make dinner."

"I can cook," Mitch insists. Dylan can absolutely tell he's trying not to smile. "Just, like. It's convenient and it's fast."

"Babe, you ordered our wedding rings from the same place I got fish food for Marchy's betta and a bulk crate of face wash"

"Convenient and fast," Mitch repeats.

"Yeah," Dylan agrees. "But I'm going to chirp you about this for the rest of our lives."

Mitch gets a dopey look on his face. "I'll take it."

Dylan grins, and elbows him. "Now that you're done being a nerd—"

Mitch squawks in protest.

"—a romantic nerd," Dylan amends, "let's go do this thing."

"You make it sound like it's double OT," Mitch says dryly, but he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. "You gonna give this a hundred and ten percent, Strome? Make every stride count?"

"Well, I'm already putting my body on the line," Dylan jokes.

"Dyls," Mitch says, turning to look at him. It looks super awkward, one foot planted on the pavement outside the car, twisted all the way around. "That's..."

Dylan takes his hand and squeezes it. "We'll figure it out later, okay?"

"Yeah," Mitch says. He smiles a little and squeezes back. "Let's do this."

It's actually way easier to get a marriage license in Pennsylvania than Dylan was anticipating. They both carry multiple forms of identification at all times, thanks to the fact that they routinely cross the US-Canada border for games, so it wasn't even difficult to find what they needed. The clerk has them fill out some paperwork, takes copies of all of their documents, and tells them that they can pick the license up on Monday after nine.

Despite the anticlimax, though, Mitch's hand is slick with sweat by the time they get back outside.

"Now what?" Dylan asks once they're back in the car. "I can't believe we have to wait until Monday. It's like I have pre-game jitters. I'll be fine by the time we get to it, but until then, ugh."

Mitch looks down at his hands. "Two years ago we wouldn't have been able to do this at all. Not here, anyway."

Dylan glances sideways at him. "That's what you've been thinking about?"

Mitch shrugs. "You know how weird it would've been, crossing state borders with the team and magically going from married to single?"

"That's... I don't think that's how it works. Worked," Dylan says after a moment. "Like. We couldn't _get_ married in Arkansas, but Arkansas couldn't tell us we were suddenly un-married. Or something."

Mitch shakes his head. "I read this thing—I didn't sleep much last night. And there was this couple who couldn't get divorced because the state didn't recognise them as ever being married. And I didn't—I don't want that for you. I don't want you to ever feel like you're stuck with me."

"Marns," Dylan says, a little helplessly. "That's—I'm not _stuck_ with you. If anyone's stuck here, it's probably the dude who's marrying the guy he accidentally knocked up."

"That's the point," Mitch says, picking at the seam of his shirt. "You're pregnant, and you're going through all this stuff, and the last thing I want is to ever make it worse."

Dylan swallows hard. "This isn't worse," he says firmly. "I don't—I'm not doing this because I feel like I _have_ to. I fucking love you, okay, baby or no baby."

Mitch leans across and takes Dylan's hand again. "And I'm not marrying you just 'cause I knocked you up. But—shit. This is real, Dyls. This is happening. And there's so much to figure out."

"I know," Dylan says. "Let's... can we pause, though? Just until we get home? I think talking will go better if it's not..." He gestures at the sidewalk, half an inch of slushy snowmelt pushed up against the storefront they're parked near.

"Yeah, okay. Anything you want." Mitch manages a wobbly smile and squeezes Dylan's hand one last time before letting go.

The drive home is quiet; the radio is on low in the background, but neither of them turns it up. It's good white noise for thinking. Dylan has his eyes wide open; he knows that whatever decision they make isn't going to be easy. But he wants to be at home when they start figuring things out, because there's almost certainly going to be tears one way or another. Who wants to drive with a sinus headache?

When Dylan glances over, he sees that Mitch is, pretty predictably, on his phone. He can't be sure what Mitch is doing, but he's got a feeling it's a little more serious than cat memes. He concentrates on driving and lets Mitch do his thing. Whatever he's looking up, Dylan's confident Mitch will talk about it when they get home. He's not exactly known for being quiet.

The house is empty when they get back; his billets are still at work, and Dylan's fairly confident that they'll call before they come home. They've walked in on him and Mitch actually fighting before, and he's positive that nobody involved wants a repeat of any part of that experience.

Dylan makes himself a sandwich, because he last ate a whole hour ago, and Mitch hovers awkwardly behind him.

"So," he says, slapping the bread together and grabbing a napkin to use as a plate. "What were you looking up?"

"Due date," Mitch replies, setting his phone down on the table. "Y'know, so we can figure out what we're up against."

"Oh," Dylan says, setting the sandwich down. He sits down and looks at his sandwich for a moment before taking a deep breath. "When?"

Mitch takes a seat too. "Last week of September, maybe the first week of October."

Dylan blows out a breath. "That's the rest of the season. Rookie camp, training camp."

"The World Cup, maybe. Definitely Hockey Canada camp for World Juniors 2017," Mitch adds. "And, like, you'd need recovery time after."

Dylan's eyes burn, and he jams the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Jesus."

"On the other hand," Mitch says gently, "you're only like five weeks. And Pennsylvania has way better laws than some other places. You have maybe two months to decide one way or the other."

"I don't think I can wait two months to make a decision," Dylan says hoarsely.

Mitch reaches out and takes Dylan's free hand. "That's not what I'm saying, babe. I just... okay, we're getting married on Monday, but we don't have to rush the other part."

Dylan grips Mitch's hand like a lifeline, but Mitch doesn't protest even though it's probably too hard. Dylan's fingers are creaking, and he's not the one whose hand is being squeezed. "What do you want to do?"

Mitch smiles tightly. "I want to help _you_ to figure this out. You're the one risking your season, your body. Like, the impact on my career if we go through with this is nowhere near what you're going through. You're already losing ice time."

"Trust me, I know," Dylan says, rubbing at his face with his free hand. He doesn't really want to eat the sandwich now, but his stomach helpfully reminds him that the choice isn't really his at this point, so he reaches for the sandwich and takes a bite, chewing slowly so he can try to figure out how to respond. "Thinking about losing almost a whole season between now and when I'd be back on the ice is... not a good thought."

"We can afford to think about something else for a little while, if you want," Mitch offers. He rubs his thumb over the back of Dylan's hand and manages a more convincing smile.

"Like what?"

"Suits for the wedding." Mitch replies. "Like I said, I didn't pack mine in my duffel bag."

"Huh." Dylan runs through the guys on his team, thinking about who's around the same size as Mitch, and who'd be the least weird about lending them a suit for a day. He doesn't love the idea he comes up with, but Mitch undoubtedly will. "Well, it'll probably be roomy, but you're around the same height as Big Raddysh."

"Heh. Told you I should've called a Raddysh," Mitch teases.

"Are we gonna tell him?" Dylan asks. "And by 'him' I mean 'them,' because when you tell one Raddysh it spreads through the whole garden."

"About the wedding? Yeah; we can't really get around it. But the rest is up to you, babe. You're the one who has to be here and face the music."

"I don't want to tell anyone yet," Dylan mutters. "I have to soon, before Andy talks to Coach, but the team—for now I think telling them about the wedding will be enough of a shock to the system."

"Okay. Then why don't we focus on one scary thing at a time," Mitch says, and Dylan nods.

"Should we call Raddysh now, or do we wait until Sunday night to spring it on them?" Dylan asks.

Mitch makes a face. "Think the suit'll actually be clean if we spring it on them? 'Cause I'll never hear the end of it if I get married with ketchup stains on my lapel."

"Yeah, maybe we should call them now," Dylan says. He likes the Raddyshes, but Mitch has a point. He takes a deep breath and pulls out his phone, shooting a text off to Darren. _hey man are you around? got a favor to ask_

_hit me up,_ Darren texts back.

"Is this a thing I can actually just do over text?" Dylan wonders aloud. He's going to try, that's for damn sure. _need to borrow a suit for monday_

_you want mine so you don't have to get yours cleaned? laaaaaame_

_you're way too short for me to get away with that,_ Dylan fires back. _it's for Marns_

_wtf,_ Darren replies. Three times.

_look can we borrow a suit or not,_ Dylan starts to type, but his phone starts ringing before he gets through it.

"W-T-F," Darren says, spelling it out just like that, and Dylan rolls his eyes. "I don't even know what question to ask first, man."

"I can give you a minute," Dylan says dryly. "Actually, hey, putting you on speaker so I don't have to repeat all of this later, so don't give away any Otters secrets to the enemy." He sets his phone down and taps to turn on the speakerphone.

"Yo," Mitch says.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Darren demands. "And why the hell did Coach let Dylan out of practice for a... a booty call?"

"Lower body injury," Dylan corrects.

Darren snorts. "Yeah, I _bet_."

"Dude," Mitch cuts in. "Suit: yes or no?"

"What are you going to do with it?" Darren asks. "Leave my suits out of your sex life, oh my god—"

"We're getting married," Dylan says, and Darren shuts up.

He's silent for a while. Dylan actually checks his phone to see if the call dropped.

"You're hilarious," Darren says flatly after a solid minute of dead silence. "I think I liked it better when the two of you hated each other, because then at least I could count on weird chirping attempts only coming from guys on the other side of the ice."

"I'm taking that as a no," Dylan says. "Okay, good talking to you dude. Tell anyone and Mitch will kill you in your sleep."

"Wait—" Darren starts.

"Sorry, man, we have to track down a suit by Monday."

"You can borrow a fucking suit, what the hell," Darren cuts in. "What the hell do you mean, _married_?"

"Well," Mitch says, "sometimes when a man and a man love each other very much..." His tone is dripping with sarcasm, but he's got that goofy smile on his face again, and he reaches out to poke Dylan in the arm.

"Mitch asked. I said yes," Dylan replies. "We don't want to wait until the off-season."

Darren lets out a noisy sigh. "Shit. This is—you're fucking serious?"

"I love him. That's not going to change," Dylan replies.

This time the noise Darren makes sounds more like fake-retching, which is honestly a step in the right direction. Dylan grins over at Mitch. "Fine," he grumbles. "Are you inviting the team? Your families?"

Mitch grimaces. This is the part that's going to be a tough sell. "We just want to get the paperwork done. We'll have a big party later, after the season is over."

"So why do you need the suit?" Darren asks slowly. Dylan really wishes they could've asked one of the younger guys; most of them are still respectful enough of the C on Dylan's chest that he can get what he needs without the twenty questions routine. Damn Mitch for being so tiny, anyway.

"It's still a wedding," Dylan replies. "Just because it's not all the bells and whistles and whatever doesn't mean that we don't want to, like, do it respectfully."

Darren snorts. "Yeah, okay. So when's Davo getting here?"

"Oh my god," Mitch says after a moment, and the horror is clear in his voice. "Dyls."

"Hey, D, I'm gonna have to call you back," Dylan says, reaching out to cut off the sound of Darren laughing. He looks at Mitch. "We have to call him."

Mitch nods frantically. "We have to call him _right now_."

Dylan could not agree more. Connor's going to be sad he wasn't the first to know they got engaged. On the other hand, he's the only person they're actually telling because they want to instead of having to tell for suit rental purposes, so that should make up for it. They exchange a glance, and then they both dive for the phone.

"It's my phone!" Dylan yells as Mitch grabs for it.

"Yeah, well, it's Davo!" Mitch replies.

They end up tipping over onto the floor, Dylan landing on top of Mitch. Mitch lets go of the phone immediately to get his hands on Dylan's hips. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." Dylan sits up, cataloguing himself for any new aches and pains. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Good." Mitch taps his hip, which is when Dylan realises that, yeah, he's sitting on Mitch's lap. "Up. You can call, whatever, it's not worth getting hurt over."

"Should we FaceTime him?" Dylan asks as he gets up and reaches to help Mitch stand.

Mitch snorts. "Do you _not_ want to see his face when we tell him?"

"Good point," Dylan says, grinning. "Let's go sit on the sofa. That way we can squish together."

Dylan sits on the sofa and Mitch sprawls across his lap; it's pretty much the exact position they're always in when they co-FaceTime Connor. He picks up on the second chime, and his smile turns suspicious almost instantly. "You guys don't play each other this weekend," he says.

Mitch smiles and waves cheerily. "Hi, Davo! Good to see your grumpy face. Stop being grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy," Connor says, clearly grumpy. "I'm confused. Why are you at Dylan's?"

Dylan ruffles Mitch's hair. "Because he likes me."

"Yeah," Mitch agrees, "I like him so much I'm putting a ring on it."

Connor only takes about a second to process it. "You proposed? You guys are _getting married_?" His voice goes up so much at the end that it's kind of hilarious.

"His voice stopped doing that, like, eighteen months ago," Dylan observes, but he can't help the smile on his face. "Yeah, buddy. We're getting married."

"When? Where? How?" Connor demands in rapid procession. He has a gleam in his eye that Dylan suspects is proto-best man-zilla.

"Um," Dylan says, glancing at Mitch. "Borough Hall on Monday?"

Connor's eyebrows shoot up. "Monday? Like, three days from now Monday?"

"See, that's what I said," Dylan says, and Mitch snorts.

"I'll text you, hang on," Mitch says, messing around on his phone for a few seconds. "There. We went and did the paperwork today, and it'll all be ready to go Monday."

"I'm gonna need to call you back," Connor says. "I'll send you my flight details once I've cleared the time off with Coach."

"Wait, Davo—" Dylan says, but Connor's already hung up on them.

Mitch blinks. "I feel like we should have been expecting that."

"And yet I really wasn't," Dylan says, staring at the empty screen.

"If we'd called him first, we wouldn't have had to bother with the Raddyshes," Mitch says. "Why did we not think of that?"

Dylan glances down at his still-flat stomach. "I guess we had a couple other things on our minds."

Mitch grabs his hand. "Do you want to tell him?" he asks softly. "We don't have to. Up to you."

"I think—" Dylan runs his free hand through his hair. "I don't know, maybe after the wedding? He's going to know something's up anyway, but if I ask him to wait he will."

Mitch squeezes his hand. "I have to fly out on Monday. You okay to tell him by yourself?"

Dylan lets out a short laugh. "Yeah. I mean, it's Davo. That's one of the few things I _am_ sure of, besides you."

And the thing is, Dylan can't think straight when he looks at Mitch. He can't weigh up his options, not for real, when he looks at Mitch and imagines a baby with his eyes, his smile. Connor's safer.

Mitch's legs are still over Dylan's lap, but he tugs until Dylan is leaning against his shoulder. It's a little awkward, but it's good enough for now. "So now what? We just wait for Davo to call back?" he asks.

"Something tells me it's not going to be long," Dylan mutters. "We can tell D-Rads that Davo's coming, though, so he can pick his jaw up off the floor and get his suit cleaned for you."

"Is this going to end up being half your team?" Mitch asks. "Because I can't call for reinforcements."

Dylan shakes his head. "No way. Most of them wouldn't know how to keep a secret if their hockey lives depended on it." Then he thinks for a second and realises with dawning horror: the other person who'll never forgive him if he's left out is Brinksy. Fuck it, he'd never forgive _himself_ if he didn't ask Brinksy. He sighs. "But there is one other person we need to tell."

Mitch tilts his head. "Who'd you have in mind?"

"Brinksy."

"Oh shit, I totally forgot. Again." Mitch smacks his palm against his forehead.

"I'll text him and tell him to come over," Dylan says. "You pull up, like, an Otters roster. We need to make sure we're not forgetting anyone else."

"Okay." Mitch dives into his task while Dylan texts Brinksy. He gets a reply within minutes. 

_u ok??_

_fine just need to talk to you,_ Dylan texts back. _I won't get you sick_

_k_ , Brinksy sends back abruptly. 

"Got it," Mitch says. "Here, take a look."

"Dermott, maybe," Dylan says, scrolling through the list. "Marchy? Maybe Marchy, too." He sighs. "Do we invite, like, Coach?"

"Starting to sound like half the team," Mitch mutters.

Dylan clenches his jaw. "If you want to be the one to decide who's coming just say so."

"Hey—"

Dylan's phone chimes, so he takes it as an excuse to wriggle out from under Mitch and push up off the sofa. "I'm getting a glass of water," he says as he checks the message.

It's from Brinksy. _c u in 10m_

_ok_ , he types back.

He takes as long getting himself a glass of water as he can manage, shuffling through the cabinets to snag a glass from the back before filling it slowly. He drinks the whole thing standing there at the counter and fills it up again before he hears Mitch moving in the living room.

Dylan sighs and grabs another glass, filling it up for Mitch before he heads back into the living room. "Here," he says, handing it over. "Brinksy's gonna be here in five or so."

Mitch takes a long gulp and then sets the glass down on the coffee table. "So. Guest list."

"I don't want to fight about it," Dylan says. "Is there some way we can not fight about it?"

"I'm not trying to pick a fight, Dyls, but you said you wanted it small. I'm trying to make that happen." Mitch presses his lips together in a thin line.

Dylan takes a long sip of his water before he sits back down. "I do want it small," he says. "I just don't want to leave people out."

"Doesn't really work that way, babe," Mitch says.

They're at an impasse and they both know it. Dylan closes his eyes. He's so fucking tired, and everything's getting complicated already. How are they going to make it to Monday?

And then right on cue, as if he could read their minds across miles, Connor calls back.

"I'm coming in tomorrow night," he says, and he rattles off his flight numbers. "I'll email it too," he adds, and then seems to notice that they're not as happy as he'd left them. "Uh, guys?"

Dylan hands the phone to Mitch and folds his arms. "Issues over the guest list."

"I'm guessing it's not going to be huge," Connor says. "I mean, if you just called me today, then you're probably not inviting everyone you've ever known like some people do."

" _Some_ people think that's what I'm doing," Dylan says.

"I do not!" Mitch protests.

"Hey!" Connor interrupts before the fight can really kick off. "This is just a formality, right?"

Dylan huffs out a breath and nods. Beside him he sees Mitch do the same.

"So it's not the only wedding you're going to have," Connor points out.

"No," Dylan says. "We're figuring that our parents will probably make us redo it over the summer."

Connor smiles. "Then if you think anyone's going to feel left out, just don't tell them you're already married."

Dylan blinks a little before glancing over at Mitch, who also looks a little taken aback. He regains his composure first, though, shaking his head and laughing a little. "Always fixing other people's problems, Davo," he says. "What would we do without you?"

"Fight over the guest list until I cried, probably," Dylan mutters. Connor gives him a weird look, but Mitch reaches out and tangles their fingers together.

"Just hold it together for twenty-four hours," Connor replies, grinning at them. "Then we can get this show on the road."

"Yes, captain," Dylan teases, making Connor roll his eyes.

Mitch opens his mouth to say something, but the doorbell rings. Dylan can see Brinksy's car in the driveway from his spot on the sofa. "Hey, Brinks is here. Can you?"

"Yeah, okay." Mitch absently lifts Dylan's hand and kisses his knuckles, then heads off to let Brinksy in without seeming to even register what he did. For a moment, Dylan's alone with Connor giving him the hairy eyeball over FaceTime. Dylan sighs. "D-Rads knows," he says. "We called him for a suit. And I couldn't not have Brinksy."

"Okay," Connor says suspiciously. "Want to tell me why you're wound so tight?"

Dylan thinks about it for a minute, then shakes his head. "When you get here. I'm not having second thoughts about the wedding, if that's what you're asking."

"Okay," Connor repeats. "Just—take it easy, Dyls. Try to relax until I get there."

"I can do that," Dylan says. "Probably. I can probably do that." He can hear Mitch and Brinksy heading towards him, so he flips his phone around. "Say hi," he offers as Brinksy walks in.

Connor waves his hand. "Hi, Brinksy!"

"Davo! Any idea what's going on?"

"Uh," Connor hedges, and Dylan snorts. "Mitch is taking life advice from Beyonce?"

"You're gonna play sick on Monday to get out of school," Dylan says. "We need you."

Brinksy looks at Dylan, then back to Connor, before finally turning the hairy eyeball on Mitch. "I will waste a mental health day on you losers if you tell me why."

"Hang on, hang on, I got this," Connor says. Dylan turns his phone around to look at Connor, wondering if he should be apprehensive or not, and a moment later _Single Ladies_ starts playing over the connection.

Brinksy spins around, eyes wide. "No way!"

"The rings are getting here tomorrow," Dylan says.

"What the fuck!" Brinksy yells, but he's smiling so wide it's probably hurting his face. He punches Mitch in the arm, probably because he's closer. Then he pulls Dylan into a hug so, okay, maybe he likes Dylan more.

"I'd punch you too, but you almost fell on your ass yesterday," he mutters into Dylan's chest.

Or not, Dylan thinks, and he looks up to roll his eyes at Mitch. Mitch is narrowing his eyes at them, though. "You almost fell over?"

Dylan is choosing to duck that question right now. "The big day's on Monday," he tells Brinksy. "We're getting married at the registry office before Mitch flies back out."

Brinksy blinks. "But what about Davo?"

"I'll be there tomorrow," Connor says. "Brinks, man, it's on you to keep them from melting down before then."

Brinksy nods seriously. "I'll call my billet family and tell them I'm staying the night."

Mitch's eyes light up, which is always a dangerous sign. "I call dibs on Connor for best man."

"Did you seriously just call dibs?" Dylan asks, at the same time as Connor's delighted "Really?" and Brinksy's affronted "Hey!"

Dylan throws his arm over Brinksy's shoulders and tugs him in, sticking his tongue out at Mitch. "Whatever," he says. "Me'n Brinksy will be epic."

"Can I talk to the second-best man for a minute?" Connor asks, waving his hand as if they're all in the same room and he can pull Brinksy aside.

"Davo, man, call me," Brinksy says, holding his phone out and shaking it at the screen of Dylan's phone. "You and me, we've got shit to talk about." He gives Dylan a sly smile before reaching out to hang up on Connor while he unlocks his own phone and hits the speed dial.

He ducks out from under Dylan's arm and saunters out of the room. "So, Davo, what are your thoughts?" Dylan and Mitch exchange a glance. They may possibly have created a monster.

"Sorry for freaking out," Dylan says when Brinksy is out of earshot.

Mitch slings an arm around him and draws him in close. "Hey, it's a wedding. If one of us didn't freak out people would probably think it was weird."

"Can I blame hormones?" Dylan mutters, leaning into him. "Is that a thing? Is it too early to say that?"

"Oh. From the—" Mitch cuts himself off and leans close.

"Yeah," Dylan breathes. "From that."

Mitch leans his forehead against Dylan's. "I'm sorry. What you're going through must suck."

"It's not a big deal," Dylan says. "I mean. Aside from the obvious."

Mitch drops his forehead to Dylan's shoulder and starts laughing. Dylan can't help but join him, and that's how Brinksy finds them a few minutes later: holding onto each other, laughing so hard there might be tears.

"I think they've patched things up, Davo," Brinksy says. "Look." He turns his phone around so Connor can see.

Connor looks at them like he wishes he was there to bear hug them, and suddenly Dylan's so, so glad that he'll be here tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

They spend Saturday trying to think of wedding things they might be missing, which turns into trying not to freak out about wedding things. Connor texts them updates as he heads across the country, which works pretty well as a distraction. It's honestly kind of a blur, which is fine by Dylan, because before he knows it Mitch is shooing him out the door to go pick Connor up from the airport.

Brinksy managed to convince his billets that Connor was flying in for a few days before he returns to active duty with the Oilers, so he has a place to stay that isn't Dylan's. It's a good thing, too, because Dylan was seriously worrying about where Connor was going to sleep. Springing Mitch on the Murphys for the weekend was one thing, but adding Connor would be really rude.

Anyway, he's got enough other stuff to worry about. He's been dispatched to pick Connor up from the airport while Mitch and Brinksy "took care of some things," like that's not a nerve-wracking prospect. Dylan's early but he can't sit still, so gets out of the car and goes to get himself a drink. Then he immediately has to pee. Then he's thirsty again, and fucking starving.

He makes a face and pokes at his stomach. "Ugh," he says, grabbing a bag of pretzels from the gift shop. They disappear like magic—a shitty, kind of embarrassing magic trick—and then Dylan has nothing to do with his hands except fidget with his phone.

He's considering another bag of pretzels when his phone dings. _here!!!!!_ Connor's text says. Dylan bites his lip and takes a couple of deep breaths, fighting down the tears prickling his eyes. Because _Connor's here_.

Dylan starts recording, and tries his best to stay still so he won't jiggle the camera. It's really a losing battle; as soon as he sees Connor walking through the arrivals gate, dumb snapback backwards on his head, he chokes a little. "Davo," he says, way too high-pitched, and starts walking towards him.

"Hey," Connor says, dropping his bag and sweeping Dylan into a hug. "Hi, buddy. How's it going?" His voice is so soft. Dylan kinda wants to curl up in it and take a nap. Instead he tucks his nose into Connor's neck and clings.

"You smell great," Dylan chokes out, and Connor just laughs and holds him tighter. He doesn't even know what a huge compliment it is; Dylan made Brinksy shower twice last night because he still had locker room stink all over him. It's probably a good thing Dylan's on IR, because otherwise the locker room might make him throw up.

"You okay?" Connor murmurs into his hair.

Dylan nods, but he doesn't let go.

"Okay," Connor says easily. He doesn't move to let go, either, and Dylan's so fucking grateful for him.

"I have stuff to tell you," Dylan mumbles into Connor's shoulder. "Is it okay to wait until after the wedding, though?"

"Of course," Connor says. "As long as it's not, like, Marns tricking you into marrying him. That should probably get cleared up before any weddings happen."

It's a joke, Dylan knows that. And he tries to laugh, he really does, but it comes out strangled. 

"Stromer?" Connor asks, pulling back a little. He looks concerned. "Are you sure you want to wait? You kinda look like you want to talk now."

"I..." Dylan's throat feels like it's closing up. If they decide to keep the baby, it won't be the last time somebody jokes about either Dylan or Mitch being trapped. "In the car, maybe?"

"Yeah, okay," Connor says. He finally steps back and picks up his bag. "You want to grab something to eat before we go? I, uh, haven't eaten since lunch."

"It's almost ten," Dylan says. "You haven't eaten?"

"With time zones, my body thinks it's eight?"

Dylan rolls his eyes, feeling like he's on more solid ground with this, at least. "You're so bad at this," he says. "I'm telling you, man. Food alarms on your phone, or you're gonna waste away."

"Want to know the scary part?" Connor says, starting the walk towards the cafe. "I'm not the worst at food in my house."

"Well, I'm pretty sure you don't have scurvy, and that was my big worry when you said you were moving in with the king of KD," Dylan says.

Connor shrugs. "Could be worse. At least Hallsy's figured out now that there's no magical laundry gnome."

"A _what_ ," Dylan asks, laughing.

"He used to just dump his dirty clothes in the spare room, and they'd somehow end up coming back to him clean and folded."

"How is he even alive?" Dylan breathes, trying not to lose it laughing in the middle of the arrivals terminal.

"Ebs and Nuge," Connor says instantly. "And Gaz, and now me." Connor starts in on a story about how when he first moved in, he'd been afraid to ask about the mysterious dents in the walls.

"Wow," Dylan comments. "It's a miracle neither of them got concussions at home from falling picture frames."

"I think he's, like, proud of all the shit he screwed up when he was a rookie?" Connor replies. "Because he's older and wiser now, or something."

Dylan claps him on the arm as they walk into the cafe. "Good luck, man. Sounds like you need it." He picks up the menu and makes a sad face at the options for omelettes. Cheese is not his friend right now; something about the greasiness of it just makes him want to gag.

"Chicken tenders, please," Dylan ways when the waitress pops up. "And a water."

Connor gives Dylan a weird look and orders a burger and soda.

"So they're thinking another week and you'll be good to go?" Dylan asks before Connor can get a word in.

Connor doesn't take the bait. "Since when do you drink water if sugar's an option?"

"New Year's resolution?" Dylan says, but he knows Connor's not buying it.

"But you'd tell me if you were sick, right?"

Dylan can tell his laugh doesn't sound right. "I'm not... sick."

Connor stares at him for a while and then just nods. "Okay. We'll talk about it in the car."

Dylan nods back. The waitress brings their food before Dylan can find out whether he and Connor are actually capable of awkward silences. Connor waits until she's gone to launch into a story about Hallsy's exploits at the All-Star weekend. It's good, easy; Taylor Hall is a ridiculous human being, and apparently he's not shy about sharing in great detail.

"Nuge laughed so much he almost fell off his chair," Connor winds up, satisfied. "Ebs actually _did_ fall, but he was kinda drunk, so."

Dylan snorts. "Who would've thought that a tournament including Tyler Seguin would have _anyone_ more ridiculous?"

"Not gonna lie, I was a little worried they'd make it a competition," Connor admits as he finishes his burger. "Who can be more over-the-top."

Dylan grins down at his plate and tries to make his food last half an hour, but Connor _knows_ he's stalling. He doesn't say anything, though, and Dylan can't be anything but grateful.

"Any time you're ready, buddy," Connor says eventually.

"Yeah, okay," Dylan says, staring down at the last bite of his chicken. Suddenly he's more nauseous than anything else. He grabs the bill that the waitress had dropped off and reaches for his wallet. 

Connor makes a protesting noise, but Dylan shakes his head. "You flew all the way down here on no notice to go to my surprise wedding," he says, pulling out enough cash to cover the bill and tip. "I can fork out for your burger." He drops the money on the table and stands up. "C'mon, let's get going."

Dylan walks fast when he's nervous, and Connor has to hustle to keep up. He tosses his bag in the back of the car while Dylan slides into the driver's seat, and when he climbs in, he buckles his belt and turns to Dylan. "You don't have to tell me if it's freaking you out, but, like. Maybe I can help?"

Dylan takes a deep breath and finds himself blurting out, "I'm pregnant."

There's a long silence from Connor's side of the car, but Dylan can't make himself look up. "Okay," Connor says eventually. "Are you okay?"

"Physically, yeah. Everything else? I don't even know." Dylan's hands are shaking a little, so he tightens them on the steering wheel. "It's not a shotgun wedding, though. We haven't decided yet if we're keeping it."

"Okay," Connor says again. He's shifting in his seat, Dylan can hear, but he's still not looking, so he's surprised when Connor grabs his arm and yanks him into a hug.

Dylan sniffles into his collar. "I don't—we're so close to making the big league, but neither of us is there yet. How are we supposed to afford a baby?"

"Is that what you're worried about?" Connor sounds surprised. "Dyls. That's not—if that's the only thing standing between you and having the baby, well, don't worry about it."

"I can't ask you to—"

"You're not," Connor cuts in. "You don't have to ask. I mean, you probably have a million other things to weigh up, but take money off the table, okay?"

"Connor," Dylan says helplessly clinging tighter.

"I'll put it in a managed trust if that makes you feel better," Connor continues. "That way you wouldn't have to worry about what people think."

Dylan laughs a little shakily. "You really paid attention to all that money talk at the draft, huh?"

Connor makes a face. "I have a financial advisor now. It's bizarre."

They hug it out for a while, and Dylan tries his hardest not to get snot on Connor's shirt. He's probably not successful, but Connor doesn't complain. Dylan finally leans back when his phone starts buzzing, wiping at his face. "It's probably Mitch. I told him we'd be back by now."

Connor smiles. "Then let's get you home to your babydaddy. Wouldn't want him getting worried."

Dylan punches him in the arm and starts the car.

-0-

Dylan's in the middle of a really great dream where he's all alone in a pretzel factory when he jolts awake feeling like someone's staring at him. Mitch is leaning against the doorframe, smiling at him in a way that makes Dylan's insides go gross and sappy. He's holding... a tray of food, Dylan realises. "Uh. Hi?"

"Hi. I got you breakfast but I didn't want to wake you up," Mitch says as he crosses the room.

"Nice," Dylan says appreciatively. "Thanks."

He's already stuffing his face with toast when Mitch adds, "I read that it's supposed to help with morning sickness? Like, if you get really hungry that can make it worse, so it's a good idea to keep food next to the bed. That way you can have a snack before you have to get up."

Dylan swallows before shrugging. "I mean, that's cool? But I don't have morning sickness."

"Not yet, but you might still get it." Mitch shrugs. "And it's really not fun starting the day with vomiting."

Dylan waits, but nope, talking about vomiting still doesn't make him feel as gross as cheese does. He shrugs again. "I'll keep it in mind," he promises. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"I'm not sure," Mitch admits. "I have a feeling Connor and Brinksy are up to something, though."

"M'not worried," Dylan replies with his mouth full.

"You're not?"

Dylan shakes his head. "I told Connor about the baby last night."

Mitch's entire face lights up. "You did?"

"Yeah." Dylan glances down; sometimes the full force of Mitch's smile is too much to take in. "I would've told you when I got back but you were asleep."

"Sorry," Mitch says, wincing a little. "I meant to stay up until you got back, but..."

"Shut up, it was late, you were tired," Dylan says. "Come over here and share this toast with me."

Mitch hesitates. "That's for you and the baby."

Dylan waves it at him. "The baby and I aren't gonna eat half a loaf's worth of toast, babe."

"Yeah, right. Have you seen yourself the last couple of days?" Mitch teases, coming over and sitting next to him on the bed. 

Dylan shoves the slice of toast into Mitch's face in response. Globs of peanut butter stick to his nose and chin. Mitch looks so betrayed, and Dylan cracks up.

"Strome wins the faceoff!" Dylan crows, throwing his hands in the air.

Mitch glares at Dylan but he doesn't fight back, and Dylan realises with a rising sense of glee: he doesn't want to retaliate against the pregnant person. The next few months are going to be _great_.

"Hey, so," Dylan says. "Connor said... a thing. Last night."

"A thing," Mitch repeats. "Okay. Can I wash my face off before we talk about Connor and his thing?"

Dylan shrugs. "Go ahead." He probably needs a minute for his brain to finish waking up anyway.

Mitch grins, peanut butter still smeared across his cheek, and heads for the bathroom, and Dylan can't help closing his eyes and smiling at nothing. He's stupid amounts of in love with Mitch, and he always remembers that at the most random times.

"So what did Davo have to say?" Mitch asks when he comes back.

Dylan snorts. "He offered to be the sugardaddy."

Mitch stares at him for a minute before laughing a little. "Wait, he _what_?"

"You're the actual daddy, but he said—if we want to keep it, and we need help, he said—" Dylan chokes up. Connor is just so fucking _sweet_.

"Wow," Mitch says. He sits right next to Dylan on the bed and wraps an arm around him, tugging until Dylan leans into him. "I mean. Wow."

"He thought the whole thing through in like five minutes," Dylan continues. "Said he'd set up a managed fund, so it'd all be taken care of but the money would be safe—we'd be safe from people thinking we're using him."

Mitch turns his head and presses a kiss to Dylan's forehead. "That's... I mean, not that I think we couldn't provide for our kid, but that's a huge relief."

"Yeah." Dylan leans into Mitch, a worrying thought popping into his head. "Do you think... He came up with it so fast. You think maybe he had a plan, in case either of us ever got hurt?"

"Yeah," Mitch says simply. "Really, I wouldn't be surprised if we found out he had it all, like, outlined with a lawyer already. Something like that."

Dylan sniffles. "Jesus, he's still captaining me from thousands of kilometers away."

"Me too, and he was never actually my captain," Mitch says.

"What are we even gonna do with him?" Dylan asks, aiming for lighthearted but probably falling short of it, if Mitch's answering shrug is any indication.

"I think that depends on what happens," he says. "I mean, I don't think there's any talking him out of setting up ridiculous contingency plans for us, but the rest..." He pauses. "Hugs are good, I guess. And I already made him my best man."

Dylan pulls back and looks at him. "Is there a better word than best? Because Connor's... yeah."

"I think after 'best' is 'favourite,' and he might be the best but he's not my favourite," Mitch says, grinning. "That spot is super taken."

"Oh my god," Dylan says, groaning. "That's the sappiest thing I've ever heard. Shut up."

"I was talking about Domi," Mitch says, blinking innocently. Dylan elbows him in the side and he cracks up.

They manage to finish breakfast without anyone getting shoved onto the floor. Barely. They take their time cleaning up, and then they trade turns in the shower. Dylan would be kinda tempted to join Mitch for naked time, except that the Murphys are home. Instead Dylan settles for jerking off and _thinking_ about naked time with Mitch.

It's almost ten by the time they're both ready to face whatever today has in store for them. Dylan grabs his phone and frowns when he sees that he doesn't have any new notifications. "Hey, have you heard from Davo or Brinksy?"

Mitch pulls out his phone. "Huh. Not yet, but I guess it's still early for Davo."

"Yeah, as if Brinksy would let him sleep in," Dylan says dryly. "You do realise we left them alone with, like, capital-i Ideas about our wedding, right?"

Mitch blinks at his phone, then at Dylan. "Well, shit."

They move in perfect sync, both texting furiously, and then they're stuck just looking at each other for a minute while they wait for replies.

"Brinksy says Connor's in the shower and that they're going to Breakfast Place after," Dylan reports a minute later.

"Connor says they're at Perkins," Mitch replies.

Dylan swallows hard. "Well. We're fucked."

-0-

In hindsight, Dylan thinks, they really should've expected Connor to somehow find a way to throw them a bachelor party without ever spilling the secret that they're getting married tomorrow. 

"McJesus," Mitch mutters as he takes in the haphazard decorations all over the den at Brinksy's place. It's definitely more a swear than a name.

Raddysh the elder raises an eyebrow at them. "Gee, Brinksy seems _really_ happy to see Davo."

Dylan swallows hard and grips Mitch's arm probably too tightly. "Yeah," he says a little weakly. "Well, we all are." That's the story, apparently, and they're sticking to it.

Shaun and Kyle are whispering in the corner, shooting glances at Brinksy. Egan and Fellows probably don't care, as long as there's food, soda, and video games. Marchment doesn't even seem to have realised that anything's up, despite the weirdness of the setup and the suddenness of Connor's arrival. But then, maybe that says something about how Connor makes people react.

"Okay, let's do this," Mitch says. He leads Dylan over to a sofa and pulls him into his lap. Which, yeah, they've pretty much always done that, so nobody even blinks. 

They've been seated for all of five minutes before Brinksy comes over with a bowl of chips and shoves it into Dylan's hands. "Davo party," he says, grinning so hard that he's pretty much radiating _I'm a lying otter_.

"Nice of you to throw a party for Davo," Dylan says dryly, and then he lowers his voice. "You're vying for worst man, Brinksy."

"I'm wounded," Brinksy replies, sounding nothing of the sort. "We have beer, if that would make you less cranky."

Dylan freezes, and Mitch's hand clamps down on his thigh. "Right, because we both totally want to be hungover tomorrow," he says.

Brinksy makes a face of unholy glee. "It's your funeral," he singsongs.

"Christ," Dylan mutters as Brinksy walks away to shove chips in other people's faces. "You should get a beer. One of us should drink through this shitshow."

Mitch nuzzles Dylan's neck. "It's kinda sweet, even if it looks like a confetti unicorn threw up in here."

Dylan snorts. "I don't even know who we blame for this, to be honest." It's probably an equal combination of Connor's and Brinksy's ideas and execution, though the huge poster of Connor's face with **HI DAVO** in glitter glue was probably Brinksy's idea.

Connor smiles at them from across the room, unrepentant.

"Part of me is really thinking we should, like, go upstairs, dump Davo's clothes on Brinksy's bed, and go at it," Dylan says.

Mitch squirms in his seat. "We should probably stay for at least an hour."

That sounds like a challenge, Dylan's pretty sure. He wiggles down a little so he can lean his forehead against Mitch's head and brush his mouth against the shell of Mitch's ear when he talks. "You sure about that?"

Dylan looks up when something wet and gloppy hits him in the face and sticks. "The fuck?" he asks, wiping what appears to be a tortilla chip with guacamole off of his cheek.

"No fucking on the sofa," Marchment says, pointing another chip at him. "Especially not fucking _the enemy_." He sticks his tongue out at Mitch, who turns and pulls Dylan into a really obnoxiously wet kiss in what Dylan can only assume is retaliation.

The room fills with a chorus of wolf whistles and shouts of "Get a room!"

"Not mine," Brinksy adds quickly.

Egan makes a dismissive noise. "I vote Brinksy's room over the sofa," he says.

Dylan rolls his eyes and gets up from Mitch's lap, holding out his hand to help him up. "The people have spoken."

"No," Brinksy wails.

Connor turns up the music, and Mitch wraps his arms around Dylan from behind.

"You're the worst," Brinksy yells after them. "We're throwing this nice party for Davo!"

"We can be fast," Dylan says loudly as they leave the room. "But do we want to?"

Dylan glances back over his shoulder to tip a wink at Brinksy and cracks up. Connor has him in a headlock, dragging him into the middle of the room—presumably so he can make Brinksy dance away his outrage.

They make it to Brinksy's room without incident, and Mitch raises an eyebrow at him when Dylan closes the door. "We doing this?"

Dylan leans in close. "I had to jerk off while you were in the shower."

"Same," Mitch says, and then he steps into Dylan's space and drags him into a kiss.

Dylan groans, leaning back against the door and spreading his legs. It's been awhile since they've had the chance to just make out; the Knights had gotten on a bus for their away game pretty much as soon as Erie had trounced them last week. This is way better than the short hug they'd had in the hallway outside the locker rooms, both of them rank from the game and neither one of them giving a shit.

He slides his hands up Mitch's shirt, smirking at the way it makes his breath hitch. "Let's make it fast now," he suggests. "And we can go slow again later."

"I can live with that," Mitch says against Dylan's lips, and he goes to his knees. Dylan's pretty sure he will never get sick of the sight: Mitch on his knees, staring up at Dylan with that little smile on his face while he works to unbutton Dylan's pants. "See something you like?"

Dylan runs his fingers through Mitch's hair and tugs a little. "Obviously."

Mitch grins, pleased with himself, and nuzzles Dylan's cock through his boxers. Dylan hisses and thumps his head back against the door. His skin is on fire everywhere Mitch touches him; if he hadn't gotten off once today already he'd be in serious danger of blowing his load without ever getting his dick out of his pants.

"Babe," he gasps out, patting at Mitch's head. "Please."

Mitch groans like _he's_ the one being teased to death and pulls Dylan's boxers down. To his credit, he doesn't waste any time in getting his fist around the base of Dylan's cock and wrapping his lips around the head.

"Oh fuck." Dylan bucks into Mitch's mouth, trusting him to take as much as he wants. Mitch groans as he leans in, mouth meeting his fingers, and Dylan bites his cheek to keep himself from shouting. 

He doesn't last long once Mitch starts sucking in earnest, his lips dragging slightly and his tongue curling after them to get Dylan wet. It's too much, it's been too long, and they been through too much. Dylan just wants to give it up.

"Mitch," he groans, and Mitch squeezes his thigh and looks up at his through his eyelashes, and that's it.

Mitch swallows him down and then rests his face on Dylan's thigh. "God, Dyls, I—can I...?"

"Fuck, yes," Dylan says, slumping against the door. "C'mere, up here, gotta touch you."

Mitch doesn't waste any time. He drags Dylan's boxers up as he stands, but leaves Dylan's jeans in a puddle at his feet. "I want—" Mitch plants a hand on the door, bracing himself over Dylan. Dylan doesn't get to be closed in like this very often; he's taller, and Mitch is brattier, so usually it's Dylan holding Mitch still.

Dylan settles his hands on Mitch's hips. "Go for it."

Mitch yanks open his pants and shoves Dylan's shirt up to his armpits. He keeps his arms braced on the door as he leans in to kiss Dylan, messy and amazing, and starts thrusting against Dylan's abs.

Dylan spreads his legs more, so they can kiss without Mitch leaning up. He grabs Mitch's hips a little more firmly when he slows his movement, pulling him closer and grinding against him. "I got you," Dylan promises.

"Fuck," Mitch groans, dropping his head to Dylan's shoulder. "Babe, I'm, I'm—" He moves one of his hands to grip his cock, and he only strokes once, twice, three times before he's coming all over Dylan's stomach and chest.

Dylan closes his eyes and drops his forehead to rest in Mitch's hair while they catch their breath. After a minute he snorts. "Think we should tell Brinksy we didn't actually mess up his bed?"

"Let him sweat it," Mitch says immediately. "I mean, maybe we should use his sheet to clean you up, just so we have something gross to toss in the laundry."

"Or we could _not_ be dicks," Dylan says, amused. "I'm sure there are Kleenex in here somewhere."

Mitch pulls back and looks at him speculatively for a moment. "Or," he says, and then he drops back down to his knees. He holds Dylan's hips back against the door gently as he runs his tongue over the mess he'd made.

"You're killing me," Dylan gasps. "How am I supposed to wait to get you home?"

"Because home has lube," Mitch says, nosing along the waistband of Dylan's boxers.

Dylan gives up, locking his knees and resting his weight against the door so he won't end up falling. Mitch takes his time, mouthing at places Dylan is very sure don't actually have come anywhere near them, but it's not like Dylan's going to complain. Then Mitch pauses, glances up at Dylan with an almost-guilty expression, and places a soft kiss on his belly button.

Dylan cups Mitch's face in both hands. He can't tell what his own face is doing, but if it's anything like what Mitch's is doing, he's really glad they're alone, because holy shit. It's really, really not hard to see on Mitch's face exactly how much he's feeling right now.

They stay like that, gazing into each other's eyes, for a ridiculously long time before someone bangs on the door. "I hate you both!" Brinksy yells from the other side.

Dylan helps Mitch up, and they tuck themselves away. It doesn't take them long to get dressed again, and as Dylan's buttoning his jeans, he glances up and sees Mitch grin. He tosses Brinksy's comforter on the floor and pulls the top sheet off, crumpling it up in his hands.

"We were having a moment, and he ruined it," Mitch says cheerily. "Payback."

"You're a terrible person," Dylan replies, but he doesn't make a move to put anything back.

"I know," Mitch says, clearly satisfied with himself. "You love me."

"It's a character flaw," Dylan deadpans before opening the door. Mitch grabs him and tugs him into a sloppy kiss while Brinksy makes outraged noises in the background.

"You guys," he whines when Mitch finally pats Dylan on the cheek and pulls back.

Mitch looks over at Brinksy and holds up the sheet. "Bro, I cleaned up after us, quit your bitching." He pauses, looks at the sheet, then back at Brinksy. "Where's your laundry?"

Dylan grins at Brinksy, all teeth. "Best bachelor party ever."

"I hate both of you," Brinksy squawks. "Don't bother washing it. I'm burning it. I'm burning my whole room."

"Oh sweet! We can roast marshmallows!" Mitch says brightly. Because he's the best.

"You're marrying that," Brinksy says, turning to Dylan as he flings his hand out to Mitch. "It's not too late. I'm sure Davo would take his place if you asked nicely."

"Hey! Don't sell my virtue behind my back," Connor says, coming up behind him.

"Davo," Brinksy whines, drawing it out as he flaps his hand wildly at them. Connor looks at Brinksy, then at Dylan, then Mitch. Mitch waits until Brinksy turns all the way towards Connor to roll his eyes and shake his head a tiny bit, and Connor's face breaks into a smile.

Connor wraps his hand around Brinksy's biceps. "Leave the lovebirds alone, Brinksy. Anything you saw was your own fault."

"But there's not enough Febreze in the world," Brinksy says mournfully.

"That's what your mom says about your jock," Mitch shoots back, taking Dylan's hand and leading him past Connor and Brinksy.

Mitch tosses the sheet into the laundry room that they pass on the way back to the living room, and then takes a bow when the guys start hooting and clapping as they walk in.

"Way to go, Stromer," Egan calls out. "That was what, five minutes?"

Marchment elbows him. "Nah, it was at least seven minutes in heaven."

Dylan sprawls across as much of the sofa as he can manage and pulls Mitch down to sit between his thighs. "I'll kiss and tell if you want," he drawls, sliding his hand up under Mitch's shirt to rest against his stomach. "You can never un-know, though."

They get pelted with stale popcorn and Skittles. 

As far as impromptu Juniors parties go, this is actually turning out to be pretty fun. 

-0-

After the movie marathon people pack up and leave. Dylan hangs back to help tidy up even though he's exhausted.

"Sit down, babe," Mitch insists. "I've got this."

"I can take you home if you want," Connor pipes up. "Then I'll come back and get Mitch."

Dylan hesitates a little. "I can still help," he says, but he know it must sound as weak as he's feeling when even Brinksy doesn't chirp him and the way he's collapsed in the kitchen chair.

"Right," Connor says. "I'm gonna go warm the car up. Get your coat and whatever."

Dylan means to do that, he really does, it just feels really nice to close his eyes for a minute.

"Babe," Mitch says, from somewhere really close by, and Dylan blinks his eyes open to see Mitch in the chair next to him, his face pressed against the table so he can grin at Dylan sideways. "C'mon, up. I got your coat, but I'm not carrying you to the car."

Dylan lurches to his feet and lets Mitch help him put his coat on. "I'll see you soon," he insists, swaying into Mitch for a kiss.

"I love you," Mitch says, kissing him quick and sweet. "Don't wait up for me, okay? You're wiped."

Dylan pokes his tongue out. "I'll wait up if I want to." But he has to hang onto Mitch to make it to the car without wiping out.

"I'll see you soon," Mitch promises as he helps Dylan mostly collapse into the car. "Just gonna help Brinksy get the last of this crap cleared out." He squeezes Dylan's hand once before backing away.

Connor's suspiciously quiet as they pull away from the curb, but Dylan's too tired to figure out what his deal is. It's not that long a drive, but Dylan still manages to fall asleep, and he doesn't wake up until Connor's shaking his shoulder in the driveway. "C'mon, buddy. Your bed is, like, fifty feet from here."

Dylan fumbles with his seatbelt and when he gets out of the car he trips, so Connor wraps an arm around his shoulders and manhandles him inside and up the stairs. He helps Dylan strip out of his clothes and brush his teeth, then pushes him into the bed.

Dylan flops on his bed... and catches Connor getting his toothbrush out of his duffel bag. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"Mitch is staying at Brinksy's tonight," he says, not looking up at Dylan. "You're not supposed to see each other before the wedding."

Dylan grabs his pillow and throws it at Connor as hard as he can. "You suck."

"It's a whole thing," Connor says, ducking out of the way of the pillow. Of course. "You're not _supposed_ to, Dyls. It's bad luck or something."

"It's bad luck not to get any fucking sleep before the most important day of your life," Dylan counters, laying the guilt on thick.

"You were dead asleep in the car five minutes ago," Connor points out.

"That was when I thought I'd have Mitch to use as a body pillow." Dylan grimaces and rolls onto his side. His nipples are already starting to get over-sensitive; making a human being is hard work. He ignores Connor as he grabs for his phone and thumbs away the lock screen. _we've been LIED TO_ , he types quickly.

_traitors_ Mitch sends back, and then a second message pops up almost immediately. _we don't want bad luck tho_.

"You've corrupted my fiancé," Dylan complains.

"It's just for tonight," Connor says. Dylan's still not looking at him, so he's a little surprised when he feels the mattress dip behind him. "Scoot over."

Dylan grudgingly makes room. "First I don't get a wedding night, and now I don't get a pre-wedding night," he grumbles, poking Connor in the ribs.

"You had a pretty good pre-wedding afternoon," Connor says mildly.

"That was just a quickie." Dylan launches into a detailed description of everything he'd been hoping to do to Mitch tonight. Connor made this bed and now he can squirm in it. "And now," he says as he wraps it up, "now I have to wait until whatever the next time we road trip is to get to do any of that." He flops over onto Connor. "Also, you get to be my body pillow."

Connor makes a thoughtful noise. "Y'know, until this I really didn't picture you as the bottom."

"Okay, well," Dylan says. "Allow me to fill you in on our sex life, Davo. Since you're so curious. See, I really love it when he—"

"Shut up," Connor says a little frantically, bringing the covers up over Dylan's face. "No, stop talking, I don't want to know."

"—fucks me in the shower," Dylan continues. "It actually works better that he's shorter than me, 'cause I can spread my legs and—"

"Nooo," Connor whines. " _Stromer_." He draws it out to at least five syllables, and puts a pillow over his face.

Dylan's got a lot of practice at Connor, though, so he knows just where under his ribs to pinch to get Connor's arms to jerk down and take the pillow with them. "—he can really give it to me," he says, merciless.

"I regret everything," Connor says mournfully. "But I super regret trying to make your wedding fucking special."

"Good," Dylan says grumpily, but he sighs after a moment. "I'm glad you're here, Davo."

A sunshine smile comes over Connor's face. "Me too. I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

Dylan pats Connor's arm before snuggling in. "I wasn't kidding about the body pillow thing," he says, in case Connor hasn't caught onto that yet.

"You want me to be the big spoon or the little spoon?" Connor replies without hesitation. And that's why even when he's the worst, he's still the best.

"Just stay where you are," Dylan says. "And be prepared for me to, like, move a lot." Nothing is comfortable for an extended period of time. "I should sleep by the door, though. I'll probably have to get up at least twice to go to the bathroom."

"Okay," Connor says agreeably. They shift around in the bed until Dylan is tucked up against Connor's side, one leg thrown over Connor's, head pillowed on his chest.

Dylan's starting to drift off when Connor whispers, "Hey Stromer?"

"What?"

"You're getting married tomorrow."

Dylan closes his eyes and grins into Connor's chest. "Yeah, buddy. I'm getting married tomorrow."

"Congratulations," Connor says. "I can't remember if I told you that already."

"Thanks," Dylan says. He's getting a little choked up; he's blaming it on the lethal combination of Connor's sincerity, Mitch not being here, and hormones.

Connor hugs him tight. "It's going to be great, I promise."

Dylan hugs him back just as tightly. "Yeah. It's going to be amazing."

He drifts off pretty quickly after that. He's pretty content, all things considered.


	5. Chapter 5

It feels like no time at all before someone shakes Dylan awake. He squeezes his eyes tight and tries to swat them away. "M'sleeping."

"Too bad," Connor says. He sounds like he's about two seconds from laughing in Dylan's face. "Brinksy's going to pick you up for breakfast in, like, an hour, and I wanted to say good luck before I left."

Dylan rolls over and opens his eyes, lifting a hand to shade them from the sunlight coming through a crack in his curtains. "You're leaving?"

"I'm Mitch's best man, remember? I'm taking him over to the Raddyshes' to get ready." 

"I'm still pissed you tricked me," Dylan says, aiming for stern. His voice wobbles, though, which he's choosing to blame on hunger. Not anything else. Because there's no way Dylan's nervous about spending the next few hours without Mitch _or_ Connor.

Connor squeezes Dylan's shoulder and gives him a soft smile. "You'll be fine. I have things covered; Brinksy just has to get you there on time."

"If you say so," Dylan grumbles. He submits to a hug when Connor leans down, but there's no way he's getting back to sleep now. "See you later, I guess."

"See you later." Connor ruffles Dylan's hair and heads for the door. He almost makes it before Dylan's pillow hits him in the back, but not quite.

Dylan rolls over onto his back and pumps a fist in the air. "Still got it!"

"You're lucky it's your big day," Connor says as he leaves.

And then Dylan's alone in his sleep-warm bed. The sheets still smell like Mitch, which isn't doing anything to make him want to move, but then his phone pings with a notification.

It's from Brinksy. _T minus 50 mins. Otter Knights are go_.

 _that is so not our code word_ , Dylan sends back.

 _it is now. shoulda written a best-man contract_.

Dylan finds himself smiling at the screen. Leave it to Brinksy to cheer him up with sheer ridiculousness. _too late to replace you with a Raddysh?_

 _yes_ , Brinksy replies. _now get your lazy ass out of bed. davo tattled on you._

 _I'll deal with him later,_ Dylan promises. Then he rolls out of bed and heads off to take a shower.

By the time he gets downstairs his billet parents have left for work, which is good. Now he doesn't have to come up with an excuse for sneaking his suit into Brinksy's car, or spending half an hour on his hair.

Brinksy spots him through the window, sitting at the table drinking coffee, and takes the liberty of letting himself into Dylan's house. "Party's here!"

"Thought that was last night," Dylan says. "Where are the streamers?"

Brinksy raises an eyebrow. "That's for the best men to know and you to never find out."

Dylan sighs but he lets it go. Whatever they're planning can't be worse than last night.

"Let's go," Brinksy says, clapping his hands like a school teacher trying to get the class to settle down. "Gotta feed you up before you get dressed all fancy."

Right on cue, Dylan's stomach grumbles; sounds like the little beast is waking up for the day. He gets up to tip the last of his coffee down the sink, rinses his cup, and grabs his suit. "Okay, let's do this."

They stop off at Breakfast Place, and Brinksy orders french toast stix for them to share before they've even sat down properly. Dylan chirps him for ordering off the kids' menu, but Brinksy just takes it without fighting back. That's not as much fun, so Dylan gets to work ordering a giant pile of protein plus protein with a side of protein.

"What?" he says when Brinksy stares at him.

"You're not even allowed to play right now," Brinksy points out.

Dylan blushes. "Maybe I need it to recover from my injury.

"Riiight." The stix thingies arrive and he offers them to Dylan first, raising an eyebrow when he grabs a fistful.

"Iss' my big day," Dylan says with his mouth full. "I c'n eat what I want." 

Including The Big Breakfast, which lives up to its name. Dylan hums happily as he works his way through bacon and eggs and hotcakes and potatoes and sausage and toast. Brinksy's omelette is no competition.

"Okay, now I can see what he meant," Brinksy says as he watches Dylan suck down an enormous smoothie.

"What?"

"Marns told me to keep snacks in my pocket." Brinksy pulls out a lunchbox-size bag of pretzels.

Dylan breaks into a smile. "Okay, you're officially forgiven for the party. And the trickery."

"So I get to be best man after all?" Brinksy bounces in his seat, as if he honestly wasn't sure if Dylan would replace him with a Raddysh.

Dylan plants his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his hands. "You're adorable."

"Shut up." Brinksy kicks him under the table, and Dylan kicks him back.

They get into a minor scuffle, but Brinksy pulls back when Dylan waggles his eyebrows and teases him about footsie. "Trying to make Mitch jealous?"

"Let's just go before we get kicked out," Brinksy says, but he's blushing bright red. Aww, the kidlet is finally growing up and starting to be embarrassed by human interaction.

They pay the bill, and Dylan slings an arm around Brinksy as they leave. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll still have time for you when you have a new stepdad."

"Good," Brinksy says blithely. "Because, y'know, I bite. And I especially bite people who ditch me."

"You wouldn't dare," Dylan says, which is a mistake, because he has to run back to the car to avoid Brinksy's chomping teeth.

They're both laughing by the time they get into the car. "Buckle," Brinksy advises. "Marns was kind of scary about how I'd better be careful with you." He snorts. "As if he wasn't the one trying to paste you into the boards last week."

Dylan gets that warm fluttery feeling in his chest that he's having trouble convincing himself is heartburn. "Wait," he says as he buckles his seatbelt. "You're totally willing to bite me, but you're afraid of Marns?"

"Okay, first," Brinksy says, starting the car and checking his mirrors. "Yes, because you didn't see how ridiculously serious he was about threatening my junk if you, like, had a hangnail or something today. And second, I'm not biting him." He grins sharply at Dylan. "That's your job."

"Most recently in your bedroom," Dylan shoots back, and Brinksy blanches.

"Truce," he says after he turns onto the street. "I don't want to have to fight you on your wedding day. You'll have a black eye, and Marns might actually kill me and throw my body in the lake."

"He might," Dylan says. He can be agreeable.

Brinksy taps his fingers on the steering wheel and sings along to the radio as they head back towards his house. Dylan feels more settled than he had when Connor woke him up; he's pretty sure the food is to thank. Knowing that Brinksy's got pretzel backup is a good thing, too.

Brinksy's billets are out; he doesn't have to try to sneak his suit into the house, and it's a relief. This stealth wedding thing is a lot of work, Dylan thinks. He's incredibly grateful for Connor and Brinksy, and he's a little afraid he'll do something dumb like tell them that in great detail. It's a concern for later, though; now is for heading into Brinksy's room and getting into his suit.

Brinksy makes some hilarious comments about helping Dylan do his hair, which Dylan will allow when hell freezes over, since that'll probably be what forces Brinksy to learn what a comb is. He's furiously texting someone that Dylan assumes is Connor, because he snaps a photo of Dylan and sends it off, then nods in satisfaction when he gets a reply.

"Your hair is acceptable," he reports. "I'm still supposed to bring the hair shit, though."

"You're not getting anywhere near me with a comb, Brinks," Dylan says again. "I will have to shower again, and then we'll be late, and you'll have to explain why."

Brinksy rolls his eyes. "Apparently your _fiancé_ requested it," he says, and then groans, probably at the huge smile on Dylan's face. "Oh my god. It's going to be so much worse during the actual wedding, isn't it?"

"Yup," Dylan says, still smiling. "And you're gonna have to stand next to me the whole time."

"The shit I do for you," Brinksy says, then heaves a huge sigh. "I guess it's still better than sitting through trig."

Dylan shudders. "That's not exactly a challenge."

"Preach," Brinksy agrees. He looks at Dylan, then at his phone. "It's a little early, but I think we can head over now instead of sitting around here. You've got everything, right?"

Dylan looks down at himself, then up at Brinksy. "I mean, I've got myself," he says. "What else was on the list?"

Brinksy stares at him for a solid minute. "Uh, the rings?"

"What?" Dylan says sharply. "Nobody said—I didn't know I was in charge of the rings!"

"Connor didn't tell you about the rings?" Brinksy asks, texting furiously. "Maybe he grabbed—no, okay, well. Good thing we're ready ahead of schedule, because we have to go get the rings from your house before we go downtown."

"The rings," Dylan says, feeling a little green all of a sudden. "I can't believe I almost forgot the rings."

"That's what I'm here for," Brinksy says breezily. He pulls his suit jacket open and yanks a small bag of pretzels out. "Also, eat a pretzel. Marns let me in on the fact that they're, like, the magic food for you."

Dylan grabs the bag and dives in, and goddamnit, he does start feeling better once he's got a few pretzels in him. He shouldn't even be able to eat given the size of his breakfast, but here he is, and he's mellowing faster the more he eats, so he shoves a few more pretzels into his mouth as he follows Brinksy to the car.

The ring retrieval goes fine; they're still in the Amazon box on Dylan's dresser, and he feels like an idiot all over again for not bringing them with him in the first place. Brinksy shoots him a smile when he gets back in the car, and then they're heading towards city hall.

Connor meets them outside when they get there. "Oh my god, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about the rings," he says frantically.

Dylan turns to Brinksy. "Call a press conference," he says solemnly. "McDavid isn't perfect."

Connor grimaces. "I got you this, so I hope it makes up for it." He shoves a yellow boutonniere into Dylan's hands.

"Uh," Dylan says, looking at it. "Flowers?"

"It's your wedding," Connor says. "I got Mitch one, too."

Brinksy peers at it. "Otters colours?"

"Yeah," Connor says. "Well, and Knights. Yellow with green ribbon." He makes grabby hands for the rings. "Best man holds the bling."

"I'm the best man, too," Brinksy says. "I could hold the rings."

"Children, please, there are two rings," Dylan says as he fumbles with the boutonniere.

Brinksy rolls his eyes. "Sorry, Dad."

Connor's face lights up. "He's right; you do have Dad voice covered pretty well."

Dylan swats him with the ring box.

"First comes love, then comes marriage," Brinksy sings. "Then comes—"

"Shut up," Dylan hisses.

Brinksy's mouth snaps shut, and he looks at Dylan for a few seconds. "Holy _fucking_ shit."

Connor grabs Brinksy's arm. "Don't say another word. Not here."

Brinksy nods, his eyes really wide. "I—yeah. Okay."

Dylan takes a deep breath. He's not going to freak out. It's cool; everything's fine. He hasn't lost control yet over who knows about the baby.

Connor lets go of Brinksy and slings his arm around Dylan's shoulders. "Let's go find Mitch," he says gently. "I think sleeping apart was good enough for the pre-wedding thing."

-0-

Mitch takes one look at Dylan's face and slaps Brinksy upside the head. "What did I tell you," he hisses.

"Not that you _knocked him up_ ," Brinksy hisses back, glaring.

Mitch's expression goes from pissed to concerned in a heartbeat as he reaches to pull Dylan in. "Babe," he murmurs. "You okay?"

Dylan just nods and hides his face in Mitch's shoulder. The Raddyshes are seated at the side of the hall, looking confused. Or maybe on the verge of a slapfight. "Can we not talk about it right now?"

"Of course," Mitch says. He smoothes his hands up the back of Dylan's jacket and just holds him for a minute, warm palms steady on Dylan's back.

The clerk calls their names, and Dylan thinks, _this is it_. It's a good thought.

The grandmotherly-type woman behind the desk smiles at them when she checks their ID, and wishes them the best when she hands over their marriage license. "Justice Evans is waiting down the hall on the left," she says. "You and your friends go on down and she'll take care of you."

"Thank you," Mitch says, taking Dylan's hand and smiling.

"Congratulations," the clerk answers, smiling back.

The Raddyshes get up and trail after them when they head down the hall. "Okay, you got us," Taylor says. "You're the prank masters."

Mitch looks at Dylan, then over at Taylor. "Wait, you think this is a prank?"

Darren elbows Taylor in the side. "I told you it wasn't! Does he sound like he's kidding?"

"I thought maybe Darren roped you into pranking me," Taylor clarifies, shrugging. "Brothers, y'know?"

Dylan snorts. "Trust me, I know brothers," he says dryly. "But, uh. Not a prank."

"Oh my god! Last night was the bachelor party!" Taylor exclaims really loudly. Darren pinches him.

"Mario Kart and pizza," Brinksy says, clearly satisfied with himself. "Not bad for, like, a day and a half of notice."

Connor heaves a dramatic sigh. "Okay, can you guys just shut up and stop ruining the moment?"

Dylan exchanges a glance with Mitch and mouths _Bridezilla_.

Mitch starts coughing, but Dylan can hear him trying to cover up a laugh. He squeezes Dylan's hand as they get to the door the clerk had pointed them to. "Ready?"

Dylan beams at him. "Ready."

One of the Raddyshes makes a gagging noise, and then yelps. It sounds suspiciously like Connor just punched somebody into submission.

"You've changed," annoying Raddysh hisses.

"I will kick you out of this wedding," Connor says sweetly.

Dylan risks a glance behind him. Darren has Taylor in a headlock, and he claps a hand over Taylor's mouth.

"Should've asked Connor for a suit," he mutters for Mitch's ears only.

Mitch nods and pushes the door open, and they both stop short when they walk in. The room is decorated nicely; Dylan would think it's just a room they keep decorated for weddings, but all of the flowers are fresh, and they match the boutonnieres Connor had given them.

Dylan turns around. "Connor. When did you have time to do all this?"

"That's why Taylor is an idiot," Darren says. "Why would we do all this just for a prank?"

"Raddysh the Younger has a talent for flower arranging," Brinksy tattles. Taylor wriggles indignantly but he can't escape Darren's grip.

"You guys did all this?" Dylan asks wonderingly.

Mitch squeezes Dylan's hand. "Surprise."

"You knew?" Dylan demands. He definitely doesn't squeak.

"Connor didn't manage to sneak a room full of flowers past me, no." Mitch kisses him on the cheek.

"I," Dylan says, but he's not sure how he would even end that sentence. "You guys."

"It's okay if you cry. You're not wearing makeup," Connor points out.

Dylan sniffs a little. "I'm not going to cry."

"He's gonna cry," Brinksy contradicts. "He's definitely gonna cry."

"Play number four," Connor calls out, and they all swarm around Dylan for a group hug.

"Stop," Dylan whines, but he pulls Connor in and buries his face in his shoulder.

"You don't want to know how much is written in Connor's wedding playbook," Mitch says.

"Nope," Dylan agrees. That will _definitely_ make him sob.

"I had to do _something_ on my flight," Connor protests.

Dylan just hugs him tighter for a minute before letting go and straightening Connor's suit jacket. "Okay. Okay, let's do this."

Apparently the Raddyshes got all the douchebaggery out of their system already, because they're quiet for the next fifteen minutes straight.

Justice Evans asks if they want a religious ceremony or a secular one, and smiles when they confer for a moment. They go with religious, mostly so they can tell their parents it had church things in it, so she opens a Bible and starts in on the service.

The actual words are kind of a blur; all Dylan can think about is Mitch's hand in his. Brinksy hands him his ring when it's time, and then Mitch is sliding a matching one onto his finger.

"It fits!" Dylan blurts out.

Mitch grins at him. "Duh. Gotta know your ring size for when you win the Stanley Cup."

"But we're not," Dylan says, and then he thinks, _oh_. Because of course somewhere in Mitch's head, somehow, they'd win it together.

Justice Evans clears her throat a little, but when Dylan tears his eyes away from the soft way Mitch is smiling at him, she's smiling, too. "Almost done," she promises.

Dylan locks his knees. He knows what's coming next.

"By the power vested in me by the church and by the state of Pennsylvania, I have the honour to pronounce you husbands in the eyes of God and the law," Justice Evans says warmly. "The grooms may kiss."

Dylan's heart pounds in his chest when Mitch turns to face him. This whole thing is surreal. Mitch already meant the world to him, and this shouldn't change anything.

"Hey," Mitch whispers, and he's got a smile on his face that makes Dylan want to hug him close and never let him go.

"Hi," Dylan says, and he leans down to press their lips together. He stays there, winding his arms around Mitch and holding him close, and Mitch grips his biceps and kisses him right back.

Somebody (Taylor. From now on Brinksy's off the hook and Dylan will always blame shenanigans on Taylor Raddysh) starts wolf-whistling. Dylan flips him the bird, and he feels Mitch's weight shift a minute before Mitch dips him. He laughs and holds on, kicking one foot out for dramatic effect when he's got his balance.

There's the sound of a camera clicking, and Connor beams at them as he lowers his phone. "Congratulations," he says happily. "You guys. You're _married_."

Connor goes a little camera-crazy then, snapping pictures of the room and of Dylan and Mitch signing the marriage certificate, and of Taylor looking embarrassed next to a floral arrangement.

"He's gonna make us a photo album, isn't he," Mitch says as Connor makes Darren stand next to Justice Evans. Darren just sighs and takes the camera when Connor shoves it at him, demanding pictures of the wedding party. Brinksy puts his arm around Dylan, and Connor puts his arm around Mitch.

"I have more pretzels in my car," Brinksy promises as the shutter clicks.

Dylan laughs and squeezes Mitch's hand. "Babe, I'm sorry, but I'm divorcing you and marrying Brinksy," he say. "Or pretzels. Can I marry pretzels?"

"When I make the big show I'll buy you a pretzel factory," Mitch promises.

"Congratulations, boys," Justice Evans says, clearly amused. "And just so you know," she continues as she picks up her Bible, "just because I let you marry him doesn't mean I'm a Knights fan, Mr. Marner, so don't get any crazy ideas."

Mitch looks stunned for a second before he starts laughing. "As long as you don't, like, un-marry us when we beat you on Wednesday, I can live with that."

"You only have a shot because I'm out of the lineup," Dylan says as seriously as he can manage.

"I'll have to annoy Brinksy into taking dumb penalties, then," Mitch says. "Woe is me. However will I manage?"

"Why did I get you cake?" Brinksy wonders out loud. "No, seriously. I'm taking your wedding cake home and not sharing it with you."

"There's cake?" Dylan demands. "You have pretzels _and_ cake?"

"Don't leave me for Brinksy," Mitch stage-whispers. "I'll build you a house out of pretzels and love."

Dylan throws an arm around Brinksy and snuggles him. "You really are the best of men."

Brinksy tilts his chin up. "Damn right I am." He puts his arm around Dylan's waist. "Let's go have a wedding reception."

-0-

The wedding reception turns out to be another impromptu party at Brinksy's which is good, because one close call in a day is enough. They're lucky Justice Evans wasn't the wrong kind of fan, or Dylan and Mitch's married life would've been tragically cut short when they were killed by their agents for a tabloid leak.

They murder a pile of Chinese food, and between the six of them the cake disappears just as rapidly. Then Darren squirms in his seat. "Uh. Is this the part where we get really drunk to celebrate? Because I could definitely use a beer."

Dylan shoves his last bite of cake into his mouth and becomes extremely interested in the crumbs. 

"I have a flight to catch in a couple of hours," Mitch tries to cover. But the room is dead silent.

"Oh my god," Taylor blurts out. "You had a shotgun wedding." He yelps straight afterward, presumably because someone kicked him.

"Mom really needs to take you back to puppy training," Darren mutters.

"Seriously," Brinksy chimes in half-heartedly. "Way to call the groom fat." He's a terrible liar, but he tries to cover it by getting up to fetch drinks.

Dylan follows Brinksy's lead and beats a hasty retreat to the bathroom. He really does need to pee, but that doesn't take him long. He can't bring himself to head back out yet, though, so he washes his face and stares at himself in the mirror. Does he look pregnant?

Dylan shrugs off his jacket and turns sideways. He's a tiny bit rounder than usual, but they just ate a giant lunch. And he had a giant breakfast. He smoothes his hand down over his shirt and untucks it, grimacing at his reflection. Making a decision about the baby was something they'd put on hold until after the wedding, but now it's after the wedding. He needs to make a call one way or the other really soon; if they're not keeping it, they have to get it done before more people find out. And if they _are_ keeping it, Dylan's mom will kill him if she finds out through hockey gossip connections instead of from Dylan. He turns the tap back on and runs cold water over his wrists. It always helps calm him down before a big game.

He's halfway down the hall when he catches the tail end of Mitch saying, "—I'll knock you the fuck out."

"Whoa, dude, calm down," Darren says.

"Fuck off," Mitch snaps back. "Dylan's under enough pressure as it is. He doesn't need anyone else running their mouth, especially if he decides not to keep it."

"Okay, Jesus, we get it."

"I'll be back on Wednesday, and if I find out you've told anyone—" Mitch threatens.

"I'll break his face before he ever steps on the ice," Brinksy cuts in. "Now come on, Marner. Your wedding only lasts for another hour."

Dylan squares his shoulders, pastes a smile onto his face, and swaggers into the room. "Hey Brinksy, thanks for hosting two days in a row."

Connor's the only one who narrows his eyes, suspicious at Dylan's tone of voice. Dylan flaps a hand at him; they'll have time to talk later, after everyone else has gone home.

Brinksy bounces in his seat, preening from the attention. Apparently he gains energy from promising to commit violence on Dylan's behalf.

"Anything for my favourite captain," he says, patting Dylan on the arm. It takes him a few seconds to realise what he's said and shoot a guilty look at Connor. " _Current_ captain," he clarifies.

"I see how it is," Connor says, sighing dramatically. "I leave for a few months and I get replaced."

"You abandoned us for the big show," Dylan says, pouting dramatically.

"Torn between my two great loves in life," Connor says, raising a hand to clutch at his chest. "Hockey and you idiots."

Dylan blows him a kiss. "Love you too, Davo."

"Obviously," Connor sniffs, and everyone laughs.

Darren asks Connor a question about Jordan Eberle, and from there it's easy to drop into hockey talk. It seems like it's only a few minutes before Dylan's phone alarm goes off. "Okay, guys, party's over," he says reluctantly.

Taylor looks like he's going to protest, but Connor slaps a hand over his mouth. "I'll meet you back at your place later," he says, a little gently. "Unless you want me to drive to the airport with you."

"I don't think anyone needs to see that," Dylan says as he stands. He holds his hands out to Mitch and wiggles his fingers until Mitch grabs on and lets Dylan haul him to his feet.

Mitch blushes. "Uh. Thanks for being here, guys."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it; you're disgusting," Darren says, grinning. "We're gonna go be elsewhere. Marns, Davo had us bring your clothes over, so just give the suit to Brinksy when you change and he'll get it back to me. And Dyls, let me know if you need backup telling your billets."

Dylan just nods, because he doesn't trust his voice right now. He has Connor so it should be fine, but it's always nice to know people have his back.

"Thanks," Dylan echoes, waving as Darren and Taylor head out. He turns to Brinksy. "Thank you."

Brinksy snorts and gestures at their linked hands. "You can thank me by not having sex in my room again."

Mitch blinks innocently. "Right, sure." He waits a beat. "Which way's the bathroom?"

Brinksy howls in protest as they head up the stairs.

Dylan laughs as Mitch grabs his duffel out of Brinksy's room and tugs him into the bathroom. "I don't think we actually have time to defile the shower," he says, a little sadly.

"No," Mitch agrees. He drops his bag and locks the door behind them before turning to wrap his arms around Dylan. "But we do have a few minutes to just kinda be alone."

Dylan sighs. "That sounds great."

Dylan leans back against the wall and pulls Mitch in, and they just stand there, pressed together. Dylan buries his face in Mitch's hair and doesn't let himself keep track of how long they stay like that.

"I'm going to miss you," Mitch says. "I know it's only three days, but still."

"Yeah," Dylan says. His sighs a little bit. "This is gonna suck, isn't it?"

Mitch pulls back and smiles tightly. "First challenge as a married couple."

Dylan reaches down and grabs Mitch's hand, brushing his finger over his ring. "We'll be fine."

"Wanna help strip me out of my wedding clothes?" Mitch asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Dylan laughs a little. "Yeah, I think I can manage that." If they can't be together tonight, at least they can have this part of the whole wedding rigmarole. He gently pushes Mitch back a step so he can unbutton his jacket and slide his hands up Mitch's chest.

Mitch's eyes flutter closed. "You feel so good."

Dylan's pretty sure he can't answer that, not out loud, so he leans down to kiss Mitch over and over again as he pushes the jacket off of his shoulders. He undoes the knot of Mitch's tie and takes the opportunity to bite at his neck. Mitch lets out a soft, breathy sound and reaches out to rest his hand on Dylan's waist.

"No time for this," Dylan says, tugging on Mitch's earlobe with his teeth.

"I know," Mitch breathes out. "God, Dyls."

Dylan takes his time unbuttoning Mitch's shirt, stilling his hands every time Mitch gasps to ask him, teasing, if something's wrong. "I'm never jerking off for you over Skype ever again," he says into Dylan's neck. "You're a terrible husband."

"Best one you've ever had," Dylan replies as he finally pushes Mitch's shirt off.

"Only one," Mitch reminds him. "Not much competition."

"Lucky for me, cockblocking isn't grounds for divorce," Dylan shoots back.

"I'm pretty sure I could plead my case," Mitch mutters as Dylan ducks back in to mouth at Mitch's neck. His fingers flex on Dylan's hips for a moment. "Hey, uh."

"Hmm?" Dylan hums. He drags his fingers down Mitch's sides and dips his thumbs just below the waistband of his slacks.

"Mark me up a little," Mitch blurts out, and Dylan stills.

"Babe," he says, pulling back, but Mitch pushes a hand into Dylan's hair and pulls his head back down.

"C'mon," Mitch coaxes. "We have time for you to give me a nice bruise."

Dylan's only human; he's got no resistance to that, so he digs his fingers into Mitch's hips and bites down. Mitch tilts his head to the side as Dylan worries at his neck, and Dylan can feel how hard Mitch is against him. Fuck not having time anyway, Dylan thinks a little dizzily, and works to unzip Mitch's slacks and shove his hand into his boxers.

"Dylan," Mitch chokes, his hips rocking into Dylan's grip. "We don't—"

"Come on," Dylan mutters against his skin, turning his face a little so he can catch Mitch's earlobe in his teeth again. "C'mon, Mitch. We can be fast."

Mitch breathes out, loud and low, and fumbles with Dylan's slacks. He squeezes Dylan through his boxers, and it doesn't take all that long, honestly. Dylan tightens his fingers when he comes, biting the bruise he can already see forming on Mitch's neck, and Mitch jerks in his hand and comes too.

"Well," Mitch says as they catch their breath, "at least we didn't fuck in Brinksy's bedroom again?"

Dylan starts laughing and slides his arms around Mitch. They're both gross, and they're definitely going to have to speed on the way to the airport, but Dylan can't find it in himself to regret it. "We should maybe finish changing on our own," he suggests when he can make himself let go. "We're not good at this self-control thing."

Mitch leers at him. "I mean, I can't blame us."

"Change," Dylan repeats. "If you miss your flight, your coach is going to ground you, and you won't be able to come back on Wednesday."

"I'd run away," Mitch swears, but he pulls back and starts undressing. It takes barely any time at all for them to get into their street clothes, and then it's Mitch's turn to pull Dylan in and hug him tightly. "Call me after you talk to your billet parents. I want to know you're okay."

Dylan hides his goofy smile against Mitch's shoulder. "Connor's going to be there; I'll be fine. And you heard Raddysh, he's on my hit squad too."

"Don't make me try to call you from the plane," Mitch threatens.

The sappy moment is interrupted by Brinksy _again_ , but this time he yells through the door that he and Connor picked up Dylan's car, so they can leave straight from here.

Mitch narrows his eyes. "He sounds suspiciously helpful."

"What's the worst he could've done in the last twenty minutes?" Dylan points out.

He should really stop underestimating what Connor and Brinksy can get up to when they put their heads together: when they get outside Dylan's car is a monstrosity of glitter and streamers, "Just Married" style. Except without the actual words, because unlike Brinksy, Connor has a modicum of subtlety.

Dylan turns to Connor, who's smiling sweetly. "Why, Davo? Just—why?"

"It's tradition!" Connor jams his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, daring Dylan to challenge him on the blatant lie. Dylan has _so many things_ to get payback for. Connor won't know what hit him.

Mitch real-hugs Connor goodbye (they're both traitors, with _each other_ ) and bro-hugs Brinksy. Dylan just scowls at the two worst men and gets in the car.

Mitch shoves a pile of streamers off his seat and grins at Dylan. "Give ‘em a break. They just wanted to make you smile."

"By defiling my baby," Dylan complains.

"Okay, maybe Brinksy wanted payback," Mitch concedes, clearly biting back a laugh. "But Connor _loves_ you. I'd be jealous if it wasn't so fucking cute."

"I hate you," Dylan says as he starts the car. 

Mitch just taps his wedding ring. "Bullshit."

"You can't use that to win _every_ argument, babe." 

"I can try," Mitch says. "I'm planning on practising it a lot."

Dylan's starting to get choked up again, so he flips Connor and Brinksy the bird and pulls away from the curb.

-0-

He'd be lying if he said he didn't cry when Mitch got out of the car at the airport, or that he didn't cry again when he followed Mitch inside and hugged him goodbye before check-in. It's possible Dylan may have waited to watch Mitch's plane to take off, and had a bad moment once it disappeared from view. And once he's back in the car where nobody can see him he might have a tiny breakdown, sobbing so hard his chest hurts. Jesus, the separation is bad enough under normal conditions but if this is what it's like being pregnant and doing long-distance, somebody really needs to talk to the NHL about cruel and unusual torture of players' families. And to make matters worse he's hungry _again_. Goddamnit.

Dylan punches the dashboard and the glove box falls open. Half a dozen bags of pretzels fall out, and he spares half a second to think _Brinksy_ before he grabs one and rips it open. He devours two bags before he thinks to check his phone. 

_you're welcome_ blinks at him from the screen. Because of course Brinksy had to have the last word.

 _I love the pretzels but I still hate you_ , Dylan texts back. 

His phone pings with another message and he assumes it's going to be Brinksy, complaining about having to exorcise his house or something. But it's Connor. _sorry about the mess i'll clean out your car_.

Dylan bites his lip and scrubs his sleeve over his face. He is absolutely not going to lose his shit again. _thanks. I'll be back soon_.

 _I'm already at your billets,_ Connor replies. _Mrs. Murphy is making dinner. we're catching up._

God, Connor. Dylan's billet parents had always loved him; having someone else there to back him up when Dylan breaks the news is great, but having it be Connor is even better. Hopefully he can charm them into a false sense of security while Dylan drives back to the house. _I think telling them about the wedding is enough for tonight,_ he sends, then tosses the phone onto the passenger's seat and heads for home.

One issue at a time, Dylan thinks. He'll cross the baby bridge if he comes to it.

Dylan parks in front of the house and twists his ring on his finger. Should he take it off? Or just leave it, and use it as a conversation starter? Wave hello with his new jewelry? He pulls at it a little and it slides up his finger, but he can't make himself do it. He knows he's being ridiculous, that he's going to have to take it off all the time, but... Mitch put that ring on him. He really doesn't want to take it off.

 _Okay, Stromer_ , Dylan thinks to himself. _Man up and hit the ice_.

Mrs. Murphy greets him when he walks in, but doesn't ask him anything about his day or about Mitch. She definitely knows something's up, but then, her Mom Radar has always been great.

Dylan takes a seat next to Connor. "Uh, so. I had a day."

"Better than the alternative," Mrs. Murphy replies. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really?" Dylan grimaces. "But I kinda need to."

"Okay," Mrs. Murphy says. "Do you want to talk over dinner, or should we eat first?"

Connor puts his arm around Dylan's shoulders, and Dylan relaxes enough to blurt out, "I got married."

Dylan can't look away from her face; Mrs. Murphy looks shocked, kind of, and her eyes slide slowly from Dylan to Connor. "Married," she repeats.

"To Mitch," Dylan says, just to be clear.

She nods slowly. "Well, that... makes more sense," she says. "He flew down this weekend for... your wedding." It's like she's trying to taste the words, with how slowly she's talking. "How long have you boys been planning this? Who else was there?"

Dylan tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. "There were six of us. And Connor did most of the planning on his flight."

"You got married on a whim," Mrs. Murphy says, and she somehow sounds a lot less surprised now. "Let me guess: you haven't told your family yet."

"Didn't want them to try and talk me out of it," Dylan admits. "Not that it would've worked, but..." He sighs heavily. "My parents kind of assumed I wasn't serious about Mitch, 'cause I used to talk about how much I hated him two years ago."

Mrs. Murphy sighs. "Dylan, honey..." She pauses, and Dylan hears her walk around the counter. A moment later she pulls him into a hug. "Anyone can see you two are crazy about each other," she says firmly. "And if this is a decision the two of you made, well, I hope that you continue to make each other as happy as you've been doing."

Goddamnit, Dylan is so tired of choking up. "Thank you."

"And you're calling your mother after we eat," she says sternly. "You're a grown man, kiddo, so she can't make you do anything, but trust me when I tell you that she's not going to be happy you didn't tell her."

Dylan huffs out a laugh and drops his head so he can look her in the eye. "Yeah, I'm pretty much going to be dead. Might as well have one nice final meal."

"I can help with that," she replies, giving him a smile. She still looks a little off-balance, but Dylan is grateful that she's making an effort. She turns away to serve dinner and Dylan slumps in his seat, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Proud of you, buddy," Connor says, voice low for Dylan's ears only.

It's not long before they're seated around the table to eat; as usual, Mr. Murphy walks in the door barely three minutes before they're ready to eat, and Dylan braces himself to tell another person.

"Hi, honey," Mr. Murphy says, leaning in to kiss Mrs. Murphy's cheek. "Dylan, Connor. How was everyone's day?"

"Well, I went to the Giant Eagle on my lunch break and found the cheese you wanted for your lunch," Mrs. Murphy says blandly. "And Dylan got married."

Mr. Murphy hip-checks her. "Very funny."

Dylan waves his left hand weakly. "Uh, actually."

Mr. Murphy crosses the room and picks up Dylan's hand, inspecting the ring closely and tapping it with his finger. "Huh. Doesn't look like plastic."

"I can show you the paperwork if you want," Connor offers. "I put it up in Dylan's room, but I can get it."

"Wait, you married _Connor_?" Mr. Murphy exclaims. "I thought you and Mitch were—ahem." He looks distinctly uncomfortable. Dylan winces, wondering how much the Murphys have heard this weekend.

"No," Dylan says. "I definitely didn't marry Connor. Connor was Mitch's best man."

"I got the flowers," Connor says seriously. "And made sure Mitch's suit was actually clean."

"Well that's a relief," Mr. Murphy says faintly. "Your mother's a lot less likely to kill me if you did this properly, Dylan."

"Don't worry," Connor says, confident. "They had a minister and everything."

"She wasn't a minister," Dylan says. "She was just the person. Judge."

Connor gives him a patient look. "Dyls. She was totally a minister. Presbyterian."

Dylan stares at him, both eyebrows raised. "Why do you know more about my wedding than I do?"

"Thank god someone was paying attention," Mrs. Murphy says. "Lasagna?"

Mr. Murphy joins them at the table, shaking his head. "Never a dull moment, Mr. Strome. Or did you change your name?"

"I didn't," Dylan says. "Mitch didn't, either. We, uh." It had been another thing they'd talked around more than about; neither of them really wanted to change their name, and when Dylan had brought up the fact that they'd have to figure something out if they kept the baby, it had become one more thing they'd tabled until later. "We figured we could later on if we wanted to."

The questions slow down as they eat, but Dylan's not kidding himself. He knows his billet parents are probably still in shock. Connor answers as many questions as Dylan does, and Dylan's grateful for him pretty much all the time anyway, but he's extra grateful now.

-0-

The Murphys let Dylan off cleanup duty after dinner this time, shooing him away so he can call his parents. Oh joy.

Connor walks up with Dylan and sits on Dylan's bed, opening up his arms. "C'mon, you'll feel better," he coaxes.

"Maybe," Dylan says. "Or maybe they'll tell me I'm taking a stupid risk."

"I meant the hug," Connor says, laughing a little and wiggling his fingers. "We'll deal with the rest in a minute. Cuddle me."

Dylan sits down next to Connor and tips into his arms. They've figured out how to do this over the years; Dylan is bigger, but Connor's good at wrapping his arms around Dylan in just the right way to make him settle into it.

"Just so you know," Dylan says to Connor's chest, "Ryan's probably going to be pissed you got to be in the wedding and he didn't. He might want to fight you for best man honours."

"You snooze, you lose," Connor says breezily. "Anyway, he'd totally have to fight Brinksy, and nobody wants to fight Brinksy. It'd be like fighting a teddy bear."

Dylan snorts. "A teddy bear that bites. A were-bear."

"You sure you don't mean Care Bear?" Connor says, and Dylan can hear him smiling. Connor's a dork like that; he smiles so wide it changes the way he talks.

"Maybe Grumpy Bear," Dylan concedes. "The one with the rainclouds on his stomach. That can be Brinksy."

That sets them both off on a giggle fit. Dylan's tired enough that he can't stop until his eyes start watering.

"Hey," Connor says gently when they've managed to calm down a little. "You should call your parents."

Dylan makes a face. "I know. But they're going to ask _questions_ and I hate lying to my mom."

"They're going to ask more questions the longer you wait," Connor points out. "Just tell them that you guys wanted to do it before you got called up, and this was when I could fly down."

"Huh. That could work." Dylan untangles himself and gets out his phone. It still takes him a moment to unlock his phone and call, but he manages. He's sort of hoping it goes to voicemail, but of course his mother answers on the first ring.

"Hi honey," she says warmly. "You feeling any better?"

"Eh," Dylan says vaguely. "Listen, uh. Is Dad there?"

"He's just washing the dishes," Mom says.

"I, uh," Dylan says, swallowing. "I need to tell you guys something. Can you put the phone on speaker?"

His mom's silent for a while. "Are you okay, Dylan? Do you have a long-term injury, or..."

"I'm okay," he assures her. "It's not a bad thing. It's just... a thing. That I'm not sure how you'll react to."

She's quiet for a minute as she tracks down his dad. Dylan squirms in his seat; Connor rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around him again. There's some talking in the background that Dylan can't make out, and then he hears the static that means he's on speakerphone. "Hey, Dylan," his dad says. "What's going on down in Erie?"

"Um. Kind of a lot, actually." Dylan wraps his free hand around Connor's wrist and squeezes. "I got married," he says fast, to just rip the band aid off.

Something crashes on the other end, and Dylan holds his breath as his dad swears.

Connor grimaces at him and mouths, _Smooth_.

"Married," his mom repeats, kind of faintly. "Is this a joke?"

Dylan frowns. "Why does everyone say that? No, it's not a joke!"

"Well, this is a little out of nowhere," his dad says after a moment. "I'm assuming it's Marner."

"Yes, it's Mitch," Dylan says tightly. "We've been together for two years. He's not going anywhere."

"Apparently," his dad says. "What the hell, Dylan?"

Dylan tightens his grip on Connor's wrist. "We didn't want to wait until the off-season, and this was Connor's last weekend before he's back with the Oilers."

"And you couldn't call us?" his mom asks, a little shrilly. "You didn't think we might want to be there for your _wedding_?"

"It's not about you," Dylan snaps.

Connor squeezes his arm tight around Dylan's shoulders. "Take a breath, Dyls."

Dylan closes his eyes and drops his head against Connor's shoulder. "Look," he says after a moment. "I didn't—we wanted to do it, and the whole thing was last minute. We called Connor, and we had a few guys from the team there, but that's it. It wasn't about not inviting you on purpose." He waits a beat, then adds, "We figured that if you wanted, we'd do another one in the summer. Like, a ceremony we could invite both families to, the whole thing."

Dylan's mother sighs. "I still don't understand why you didn't tell us first."

"Because—" Dylan's voice wobbles. "Because I wasn't sure you'd be happy for me. I know you think I'm too young to know yet, but I know. Mitch is the one."

"Oh, honey," his mom says, and now she sounds wobbly, too. If she cries, Dylan's going to lose it. "You're so young, but I know how you are once you make your mind up about something. You were bound and determined to have that boy mean something to you one way or another."

Dylan's dad is conspicuously silent. He's afraid to ask, but he won't be able to hang up without knowing. "Dad?"

His dad sighs. "Well, you can't take it back now so I guess I'll get used to it. But it would've been easier if you told us when you got engaged."

Connor snorts, and hides his face against Dylan's shoulder.

"Sorry," Dylan says weakly.

"Is that Mitch?" his mom asks. "Is he there with you?"

"Uh, no. It's Connor. Mitch had to go home already."

"Put him on the phone," Dylan's mom demands.

Dylan makes an indignant noise. "You like him better than me," he accuses.

"Right now, it's entirely possible," his mom mutters. "Give Connor the phone, Dylan. Don't make me hang up on you and call him."

Dylan hands over the phone and rolls away from Connor, folding his arms over his chest and pouting.

"Hi, Mrs. Strome," Connor says brightly. He pauses for a minute, listening intently. Then he says, "No, I took a bunch of photos! I'll email them to you." He nods along to whatever Dylan's mom is saying, making agreeing noises. "No, don't worry," he says after another pause. "I checked. She was definitely a minister."

Dylan kicks him in the thigh. He wants to cull the ugly photos before his parents see them, or worse, his brothers.

Connor swats his ankle. "I made sure they had suits and flowers and cake. It was nice." Then makes a face and laughs really awkwardly. "Uh," he says, glancing at Dylan. "That's really nice of you to say? But Dylan's my best friend, and he's totally in love with Mitch, so."

 _Traitor_ , Dylan mouths. Connor is not allowed to steal Dylan's mom. He _needs_ his mom.

"Right, sure," he says. "Not a problem. You, too." He hesitates. "D'you want to talk to Dylan again, or..."

Dylan holds his hand out for the phone, but Connor just makes a sad face. 

"Okay, have a good night Mrs. Strome, Mr. Strome." And then he hangs up.

"Dude!" Dylan protests.

"She says she'll call you tomorrow," Connor says apologetically. "I think she's a little mad."

Dylan flops back on the bed. "Well now _I'm_ a little mad."

Connor lays down next to him. "Sorry," he says quietly.

"Not with you, dumbass." Dylan crawls over and puts his head in Connor's lap. "This sucks."

"They'll come around," Connor says, completely confident. "You mom's just surprised, and I think probably mad she wasn't there, but she'll be okay with it. And your dad..." He hesitates, but only for a second. "He's just worried, Dyls. I'm pretty sure that's it."

"If they didn't want me to marry him, they definitely won't want me to have a kid with him," Dylan points out.

"That's not their choice," Connor says, just as firmly. "It's yours and Mitch's."

"But what if I get hurt, and I need them to help?" Dylan says, desperation starting to creep into his voice. "What if this is the end of my career before I even get started? What if _Mitch_ gets hurt—"

"Hey, hey," Connor says. He tugs until Dylan is curled into him, breathing raggedly into his shoulder, and runs his hand up and down Dylan's back. "We already talked about this, Dyls. That's not a thing you have to worry about."

"I need him," Dylan blurts out. "I don't want to do this without Mitch."

Connor hugs him tight. "Pretty sure you don't have to."

"What am I doing?" Dylan asks, burying his face in Connor's neck.

"Tell me if I'm off base," Connor says gently, "but it sounds like you're having a baby."

Dylan takes a deep, shuddering breath and holds it for a five count before letting it out slowly. He does it a few times; it's always helped him focus. Finally, though, he nods, a little jerk of his head against Connor's shoulder.

"Oh my god," Connor breathes. "You and Marns got married and you're having a baby, oh my god, Dylan."

Dylan lets Connor's reaction wash over him. Because yeah, this is part of why he'd held off on having this conversation: Connor's one of the few people who never doubted Dylan and Mitch could make it. Connor's probably the only one who'll be 100% on their team, no matter what. 

"Yeah," Dylan chokes out. "I'm having a baby."

"Dibs on godfather," Connor says immediately, and he's smiling so much that Dylan can feel it pressed against his head. "You said World Juniors, right?" he goes on. "So when are you due? Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? What are you gonna name it? Oh my god, are you gonna do the Nuge thing, is it gonna be Strome-Marner, Marner-Strome?"

Dylan winces. Who knew that Connor'd been holding _back_ all this time? "Probably the last week of September. And right now it's so tiny you can't even see the heartbeat, let alone whether or not it has a dick."

"That's so small," Connor says, looking kind of dumbstruck. "I mean, I know babies start out, like, microscopic, but that's really small."

Dylan laughs. "I know, right? It's not gonna stay small though."

"Tell me everything," Connor demands. He pulls back and makes actual real-life chin-hands.

Dylan face-washes him. "I have to call Mitch first, to tell him how everything went. Otherwise he might fly back here again."

"He'll be here Wednesday," Connor protests. "I need details _now_."

"You're here _all night_ ," Dylan points out.

Connor's eyes go wide. "Sleepover!" He gets up and literally runs out of the room to get supplies. Dylan takes the opportunity to call his boyf—his _husband_.

"Hey, Dyls, I was just about to call you," Mitch says when he answers.

"Hi," Dylan breathes. "We're having a baby."

Mitch makes a pained noise. "I dropped my bag on my foot. Did you say..."

"Yeah. Let's do this."

Mitch starts laughing, but it sounds like a good kind of laugh. "Holy shit, holy shit, I love you," he manages.

"I know. I love you too." Dylan tips back on his bed and beams at the ceiling. "I talked to Connor, and I just—he was happy for me. And it made me happy."

"Good," Mitch says warmly, and that's—that's one of the things that Dylan absolutely loves, a thing he can put his finger on and name. He's never jealous of Connor, never thinks that Connor and Dylan's friendship is more than it is, is genuinely happy for the two of them having each other. "Did you tell him he could be godfather? Bet you did."

Dylan laughs. "He told me."

Mitch laughs along with him. "So does this mean I get to tell a couple of people?"

"Yeah," Dylan says, flopping onto his back. "I'm gonna have to tell Coach tomorrow." He pauses. "My family, too."

Mitch hisses in sympathy. "If you wait until Wednesday we can tell our parents together. Make it a group thing, as a family."

Dylan makes a noise at that, and Mitch laughs again. "Yeah," he says. "I, uh. I already told my parents we got married, but that's it." He swallows. "I really want you here when we tell them about the baby."

"Then I'll be there," Mitch says easily. "We'll do it together. As a _married couple_ ," he adds, doing his best to make the words drip with cheesiness.

"As parents," Dylan adds.

Mitch curses, and there's a banging noise. "Ow. I just walked straight into the sign for the taxi stand."

"Babe," Dylan says, aware that his own voice is way too fond.

"I'll call you back when I'm not in danger of giving myself a concussion," Mitch replies ruefully.

Connor chooses that moment to come back into the room, dumping his snacks on Dylan's desk and jumping onto the bed with him. "Quit monopolising my bestie," Connor yells so Mitch can hear him. "You can have him back on Wednesday."

"Did he seriously just call you his _bestie_ ," Mitch says disbelievingly. "He plays too much hockey, oh my god."

"He _just_ plays hockey, nothing else," Dylan replies. "Sometimes I wonder how he can tie his shoes."

"I can pay people to do that for me now," Connor says, sniffing haughtily. "Hang up. Tell me baby things."

"Good night, husband." Dylan puckers up to the phone, just to gross Connor out.

"I love you," Mitch says softly. "And, uh." He coughs a little. "Is it weird if I want to tell you to say goodnight to baby?"

Dylan melts into the mattress. "No, it's not weird."

"Okay," Mitch says. "Awesome. G'night, baby."

They hang up shortly after that, and Connor lets Dylan bask in the glow for all of five minutes before he thwaps him with a pillow.

"Tell. Me. Everything."


	6. Chapter 6

They snuggle up and talk for a while, mostly about the baby and the proposal, because Connor wasn't kidding when he said he wants _all_ the details.

"Dude," Dylan says, "you won't believe how much I lost my shit on Thursday." It's nice that he can tell Connor the ugly parts, and Connor won't freak out or get worried or second-guess Dylan's decision.

"Did you cry?" Connor asks, his voice soft.

"Hell yeah. I made a mess of myself."

"And Mitch just packed up and flew down to you," Connor says. "You guys are like a chick flick."

"He proposed before we even got back to my billet," Dylan confesses.

"Oh my god," Connor says, like he can't think of anything better. "Did you cry again?" He leans over and grabs a handful of popcorn.

"Like a slob," Dylan confirms. "It was gross."

Connor makes a gleeful face. "You're going to be so much worse when you hold the baby."

Dylan's eyes start welling up.

"I'm recording this," Connor says, finishing the last of the popcorn and clicking something on his phone. "Okay, to recap: hi, baby! This is your favourite uncle Connor, who is also your godfather, and I'm talking to your dad, and he's crying thinking about holding you. Isn't is awesome? It's awesome."

"Oh my god, Connor, I hate you." Dylan swipes at his eyes, and elbows Connor in the ribs.

"But you love baby," Connor coos.

Dylan covers his face with both hands. "Hate you. I don't want my kid seeing me with blubbering face." Connor makes anything sound possible. It's both the best thing about him and the worst.

"As soon as I get back on the ice I'm going to score one for you, my favourite niece or nephew," Connor says into the camera. "You'll have to watch a replay, though, I guess." Then he turns to Dylan with a thoughtful look on his face. "Do you think people ever get uncle power?"

"I think if anyone does, it'll be you," Dylan replies.

Connor's face goes all gooey and soft, and Dylan steals his phone. "This is your uncle being a giant dweeb," Dylan narrates.

" _I_ love you, baby," Connor says, in a tone that matches his facial expression perfectly. "Even if your dad won't say it, I will."

"Hey, no," Dylan protests, flipping the phone around. "I definitely love you more than this loser does." He struggles with Connor as he tries to take the phone away, but Connor pokes him right below his ribs where he's ticklish, so he's forced to relent. "I mean, I'm the one growing you. That's a lot of love right there."

"It really is," Connor says softly from behind the phone. He taps the screen and it beeps, ending the recording, and Connor lowers the phone. "Dylan. Wow."

Dylan takes a shaky breath. "Wow," he repeats, staring down at his stomach. All freaking out earlier aside, he knows the baby isn't big enough to see yet. There's no visible change, but Dylan feels really different anyway. "I… yeah. Wow."

Connor drags him into another hug. "I'm really looking forward to having uncle power."

"You should get pre-uncle power," Dylan mumbles into his shoulder. "You have, like, six more days on IR. Score one for baby your first game back or something. First shift."

"Maybe I'll get baby a hat trick," Connor muses. "Make Kesler so mad he breaks a stick on the goal and gets thrown out of the game for unsportsmanlike conduct."

Dylan laughs. "That'd be _sick_."

"I'll do my best," Connor promises. He leans over a little, facing Dylan's lap. "You hear that? I'm going to try to score you a hat trick _and_ make a bad guy look dumb on TV."

"Such a pushover already," Dylan says, laughing a little. "I'll have to talk you out of buying the baby an entire house full of merch, won't I?"

"Who, me?" Connor says, way too innocently. "Would I do that?"

Dylan facewashes him. "Mr. Third Coming of Hockey? Nah."

"Third time's the charm," Connor says, grinning unrepentantly.

"You're spending way too much time with Hallsy," Dylan groans.

Connor snorts. "Tell me about it! Like, you chirp me all the time about _just playing hockey_ and not knowing how to survive in the real world, but damn. Taylor Hall." He pulls up clips on his phone of Hallsy's pre-game interviews. "He's not very good at... not-hockey."

Now it's Dylan's turn to snort. "Look, I was a little afraid when I found out you were living with him," he replies. "I honestly thought you might, like, get scurvy."

"I do a lot of the grocery shopping," Connor confides. "I mean, it's not that Hallsy doesn't know how to buy stuff! He just has no idea of proportion, and how to use things before he leaves for a week."

Dylan shudders. "His fridge sounds like a nightmare."

Connor's eyes go wide, like he's Seen Some Shit. "I went to see my parents when the guys left for a road trip after I got injured. When I came back it was full of gremlins."

"Gross," Dylan says cheerily. "Bet you can't wait to get back."

Connor snorts. "I can't wait to get back on the ice for real. But I'm kinda terrified about what it'll be like coming home to gremlins _and_ being wiped from a road trip."

"I have faith in you," Dylan says. "And your ability to hire a cleaning service to come in while you're away."

"Oh my god, Dyls, you're a genius!"

"Of course I am," Dylan says. "And, hey, speaking of my genius ideas..." He steals back Connor's phone and programs Ryan and Matt's numbers into it.

"What are you doing?"

"Being a genius," Dylan says loftily. He holds his facial expression for a few seconds before sighing. "Look, I'm really sick of people telling me my wedding is a bad joke."

Connor drags him into a hug. "It's not! That's bullshit!"

"I know that, and you know that," Dylan says. "But my brothers..."

"Oh!" Connor takes his phone back and starts texting furiously. "I'm playing against Ryan at the end of the month. If he gives you any trouble, I'll kick his ass."

"Please don't break your hand again," Dylan sighs.

"I'll get Hendricks to kick his ass," Connor amends. His phone starts buzzing angrily. 

"What are they saying?" Dylan asks, trying not to sound as anxious as he feels. 

Connor squints at the screen. "Ryan's mad he was passed over for best man. Matt's just laughing."

Dylan scowls. "Great, another person who thinks it's a joke."

"Wait," Connor says. "Matt just said _I knew it_." His phone buzzes again. "Ryan owes him a hundred bucks. He was betting on a Christmas proposal."

"They were betting?" Dylan splutters. "Good thing neither of them was in the running for best man, because I'd revoke that status. Rude."

Connor gives him a fond look. "They were betting on when Mitch would make an honest man of you, Dyls."

"Which one of them bet on honeymoon baby?" Dylan mutters. "Because I'll kick both of their asses if that's actually a bet, pregnant or not."

"I think if either of them bet on that, you technically get the proceeds," Connor says thoughtfully. "Since, you know, they'd both lose."

"Tell them they need to be free Wednesday," Dylan says. "Like, four-ish. For a family conference."

Connor taps out the message and his phone starts buzzing like crazy almost immediately. He winces and shows Dylan the screen. Matt's sent two messages in the space of thirty seconds: _I KNEW IT!_ and _wait, shit, should i get tested?_

"Shit," Dylan says weakly.

"No, hey, this isn't a bad thing," Connor says, dropping his phone and pulling Dylan in again. "If they already know, then they won't be surprised on the phone with your parents." He doesn't have to fill in the rest: that Matt and Ryan can help buffer him if his parents don't react well.

Connor's phone buzzes insistently while they're hugging it out.

"Thanks," Dylan says when he's feeling a little steadier. "You're the best."

Apparently Dylan's brothers have given up on trying to get hold of Connor, though, because Dylan's cell starts going nuts. Dylan sighs. "Guess I have to front up after all."

Connor squeezes him tight. "Remember: I'm ready and willing to kick ass."

"I'll let you know if that's necessary," Dylan promises as he picks up his phone.

"Bro!" Matt exclaims. "Congratulations. And thanks for winning me the pool. I'll get you the best wedding present ever."

Dylan lets out a shaky breath. "Matty. You're not mad?"

Matt laughs. "Do you know how much chicks eat up the epic romance of my brother and his one true love?"

"You use me and Mitch to pick up girls?" Dylan asks, disbelieving. "And it _works_?"

"True love runs in my family," Matt singsongs. "Also I get bonus points for not being a homophobic asshole."

"Matt," Dylan says. He's not sure what else to say; he doesn't really have the words to express the happy choking feeling in his chest.

Beside him Connor cracks up laughing. "Oh my god, baby Matt is growing up _nasty_."

"I'll talk to you on Wednesday," Matt promises. "Say hi to your _husband_ for me."

"I will," Dylan says. "He'll, uh. He'll be in on the call to Mom and Dad on Wednesday."

Matt snorts. "Oh shit, that's going to be epic."

"Hopefully not," Dylan mutters. "They already know about the wedding, and that was fun enough."

"Damn. You'll have to email me all the deets. I'd better get off the phone, though, or Ryan'll strangle me for taking his turn," Matt says. "Take care of mini-you."

"I will," Dylan says. "Thanks for... just thanks, I guess."

"Wednesday," Matt promises again, and then he hangs up.

"That went well," Dylan says, but he barely finishes the sentence before Ryan's calling.

Connor takes one look at Dylan's face and takes the phone so he can answer for him. "Hey, Ryan." He listens quietly for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, no. Try again, but be less of a dick." He listens for another minute and then says, "You have three weeks to get your head out of your ass, and then I'll be in New York to smack some sense into you." And he hangs up.

Dylan just leans into him, and Connor puts an arm around his shoulders. "That went less well," Dylan manages.

"He's your big brother," Connor points out. "Sometimes he takes looking out for you too far."

"I wish he could just be happy for me," Dylan says, suddenly exhausted. "I mean, I'm glad that Matt is, but I wish someone with actual adulting experience thought I wasn't making a huge mistake."

Connor sighs, his breath ruffling Dylan's hair. "It's not going to be easy, but you know that. Half the guys on my team are less grown up than you, Dyls."

"Telling me I make better choices than Taylor Hall isn't awe-inspiring anymore," Dylan says halfheartedly.

"You're better than Jordan Eberle, and he's lived with a girlfriend before," Connor says.

"Tell me I'm beating out Nugent-Hopkins," Dylan says hopefully.

Connor shrugs. "I don't like to lie," he says placidly.

"At least I don't block shots with my hand," Dylan grumbles.

"Very true," Connor agrees. "You can definitely make fun of him for that. In fact, I really encourage it."

Dylan glances at Connor out of the corner of his eye. Is Davo _blushing_? He's definitely blushing. "Details," Dylan demands. "Details _now_ , oh my god. You've been holding out on me!"

"I don't have any details!" Connor protests. "We're just friends. And he was the only one who didn't make fun of me when I needed someone to get stuff off high shelves for me when I couldn't lift my arm."

Dylan studies him for a moment. "And now you've got a thing for him," he concludes. "Get it, Davo." He pauses. "But use protection, like. Seriously." He gestures at himself.

Connor thwaps him with a pillow. "You're the worst."

"You love me anyway," Dylan singsongs.

They get into a minor scuffle, which Connor blatantly lets Dylan win when he yawns in the middle of it. Connor manhandles him into a cuddle, and that's how Dylan drifts off to sleep.

-0-

Dylan tells his billet parents over breakfast the next morning. They're exactly 0% surprised.

Mr. Murphy takes a long gulp of coffee. "So you called your boyfriend and he flew over for a shotgun wedding," he says in the same tone of voice he uses for "Is there more toast?"

"Um, kinda? We would've gotten married anyway, eventually. This just moved up the timetable."

"It fits," Mrs. Murphy says. "You come down with a very sudden and very vague injury, Mitch flies in, you get married..."

"Yeah, I guess it wasn't exactly subtle," Connor says, poking Dylan in the arm.

"My parents don't know yet," Dylan says. "We're gonna tell them on Wednesday, when the Knights come in for the game, but... I told them about the wedding, and that was enough for one night."

Mrs. Murphy smiles at him, and hands him a cup of tea. "They'll come around, Dylan."

"I hope so," he says, trying not to sound like he's whining.

He hasn't thought much past this week, but once he tells Coach he'll be off the team for good. Then he has to find somewhere to go, and he has to get by somehow until Mitch inks a contract with the Leafs. He's not panicking, except for the part where he's totally panicking. If his parents don't want him to come back, Dylan's pretty sure he'll lose his shit. Connor would definitely force-move him to Edmonton, but Dylan super doesn't want his baby to be born in a place where Taylor Hall's fridge gremlins might digest him or her. Mitch's family are amazingly close-knit, so maybe they'd help. Unless they react as badly to the whole thing as Dylan's parents did.

Connor pokes Dylan again. "Stop that," he says sternly.

"I have to tell Coach today," Dylan says, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Mr. Murphy hums a little. "You should call your agent, too."

_Fuck!_ Why does Dylan keep forgetting important people? He'd be so screwed without everyone helping him get his shit together. "Thanks. I'll do that before I head out for the day."

"We're here for you," Mrs. Murphy says gently. "Let us know what you need, kiddo. We can help you figure things out."

Dylan mumbles his thanks again and takes a sip of his tea.

They head upstairs again when breakfast is over; most of Connor's stuff is packed already, but they both know that he's going to forget something if they don't check at least five more times.

Connor shuts the door and drags him into a hug. "I can get a cab if it's easier for you."

"I'm going to cry either way," Dylan says grumpily. "Might as well get half an hour more out of your visit by driving you to the airport."

Connor squeezes him tight. "I don't want you to cry."

"Can't help it. The baby's a drama queen," Dylan complains.

"Does that mean when I score a hat trick against Anaheim, you're going to be happy all night?" Connor wonders.

"That'd make me happy all night anyway," Dylan points out. "But it probably means Mitch's brother will repost his duck hunting pics."

"Anything to give him that excuse," Connor says, grinning.

Dylan snorts. "I'm a little scared of how Chris is going to react." Connor cracks up too; they both remember Mitch receiving rainbow balloons every day for a week when he came out.

"He and Matt are going to be in some sort of lifelong competition for favourite uncle," Connor says, still laughing.

"Yeah, but the baby only has one godfather." Dylan gives Connor one last rib-crushing hug and then pulls away. "Check your stuff. I'm gonna leave my agent a message."

"Okay," Connor says. "Sit at the desk. I need to look under the bed." He'd lost a shoe to the mysterious space beneath Dylan's bed for almost three weeks last season.

Aaron's secretary puts him straight through when he calls, which is a little weird. Dylan realises belatedly that Aaron probably heard he didn't play over the weekend.

"Dylan," Aaron says warmly, and Dylan remembers why he signed with Newport. Other than it being Ryan's agency, anyway. Aaron had struck him as a good guy, someone who he'd want on his side in a crisis.

"Um, hi," Dylan says awkwardly. "Sorry I didn't call you earlier; I was—I've been kinda busy."

"Is everything okay?" Aaron asks.

"I'm not injured," Dylan says, "but I'm going to be out the rest of the season."

"I'm going to need more information," Aaron says when he doesn't elaborate. "Did something happen with the team? With your family?"

Dylan laughs. "You could say that. Mitch and I got married. And, uh. I'm pregnant."

Aaron's silent for a minute. When he speaks again Dylan can almost hear the gears turning in his head. "Okay, I can work with that. It's good that you're putting a family spin on this."

"It's not a _spin_ ," Dylan says.

"No, I know, but the NHL is old-fashioned. It's going to be easier to sell you and Marner as a married couple starting a life together than it would be if you were doing this on your own." Aaron sounds apologetic, but he's not the one who made this fucked-up environment. "And we've already gotten a jump-start on the narrative, with the articles about you and Marner getting along at World Juniors."

Dylan blinks rapidly. "Uh. Okay?" He doesn't like thinking about it that way, and he _really_ doesn't want anyone to find out just how well they'd gotten along.

"This is a good thing, Dylan," Aaron says. "It'll take some work, but I'm confident."

This is really not how Dylan was expecting this conversation to go. He definitely made a good decision, going with Aaron. "Thanks."

"I'll start working on a few things," Aaron says. "I'll ask the Otters not to release anything until we can work out what we want to say."

"They don't know yet," Dylan says. "Well, okay, Andy knows—he's our head trainer. He, uh, he's the one who told me. But I'm heading over there in a couple of hours to deliver the news."

"Okay. Let me know how everything goes. Remember, it's my job to step in on any negotiations."

Dylan nods, only remembering after he's done it that Aaron can't see him. "I will. Thank you, Aaron. I can't—" It's a relief knowing that someone has his back in fighting the big battles Dylan knows are coming.

"It's my job," he repeats. Aaron's silent for a while before he adds, "And it's not like no-one else has ever been in your position." His tone is heavy when he says it.

_Oh,_ Dylan thinks. _Holy shit._ That's—he's met Aaron's son, but it never crossed his mind that Aaron might've been the carrier. It's... kind of awesome not to be alone in this.

"Do you want me to call you after I talk to Coach?" Dylan asks, at least partly for lack of something better to say.

"Only if there's something you want to discuss," Aaron replies. "I'm sure you have other calls to make."

"Yeah, I—" Dylan grimaces. "Mitch and I are telling our parents tomorrow night."

"It's probably a good idea to remind them not to talk to the press," Aaron says. "Once news leaks about the baby, my office is going to be flooded with requests for interviews and pictures."

"We will," Dylan promises. "I don't think either one of us has plans to, like, tell a ton of people yet. Our families, some friends, team management."

"That's good. But tabloids love pull quotes from angry parents, especially in Toronto," Aaron says gently. "So let me know if anyone needs to be talked down."

_Fuck,_ Dylan thinks. Mitch is a Leafs prospect. They're both going to get raked over the coals.

"Why don't you give me Mitch's number, and I'll coordinate with his agent," Aaron says.

"Yeah," Dylan says a little numbly, and rattles it off. "He's probably going to be skating suicides until he pukes today, but I'll text him and let him know he should get back to you ASAP."

"Thanks, Dylan. And I have to say, I'm impressed with how you're handling this. I appreciate the heads-up."

Dylan laughs a little weakly. "I'll let you know if anything else life-altering happens," he says. "Hopefully I'm done for a while, though."

Aaron laughs along with him before he says goodbye, promising to keep in touch. Dylan just barely manages to keep his jaw from dropping open because that... didn't suck.

"Everything okay?" Connor ventures when Dylan just stares at his phone. "I didn't hear any yelling."

"I have the best agent," Dylan says faintly. He can't quite believe it.

"Good," Connor says approvingly, and Dylan has the distinct feeling that Connor's removing Aaron from his mental list of people he's going to yell at.

"Down, boy," Dylan says, managing a real smile. "No going after my management team."

Connor just smiles beatifically. "Well, now I don't have to."

"Check your stuff again," Dylan orders. "We have to leave for the airport in half an hour."

"Yes, Dad."

It's nothing Connor hasn't said to him a hundred times before, because Dylan is constantly harassing him about shit, but Dylan fumbles his phone and grins all at the same time. He considers whether or not Connor will let him get away with a noogie and decides against it. "Brush your teeth. Fix your hair. Tuck in your shirt."

"Don't worry, baby," Connor says in the general direction of Dylan's stomach. "I won't let him bully you too much."

"It's not bullying, it's good parenting," Dylan says, shoving Connor in the shoulder. "You don't want to have to sit out more games because you have cavities that need dental surgery."

Connor makes a horrified face and bolts for the bathroom. Dylan can't help cracking up again. Who knew the key to making Connor act like a grown up was to relate everything back to ice time?

He sits on the bed, laughing so hard he has to hold his stomach. Maybe today won't be so bad.

-0-

Dylan's feeling pretty proud of himself when he pulls up at the rink. He only cried _once_ when he was seeing Connor off at the airport.

He pulls into a park and heads straight for Andy's office, his ring a constant weight on his finger. He has proof that Mitch is in this with him, he has his agent at his back, and Connor, Darren, and Brinksy willing to stand in front of him. His own goon squad. This… might actually work.

Dylan pats his pocket for good luck, double checking that he didn't leave his pretzels in the car, and knocks on Andy's door.

Andy looks up and smiles. "Dylan, hi. You're looking a lot better."

"Yeah." Dylan can feel himself blushing; nobody needs to know he spent half the weekend getting laid. "Mitch came down, and we figured out a few things. Actually, we got married yesterday."

Andy's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow. So that's why Alex and the Raddyshes came down with a mysterious 24-hour bug. Congratulations." He shuffles a stack of paper, and holds it out. "Your blood test results confirm what we already knew, and your STD panel came back clear."

"Um. Thanks?" That's… good? Not that Dylan was expecting any different. He thumbs through the stack of paper. Huh; kind of interesting, he figures, to know for sure he's HIV negative. He's winning at life on at least one front.

"Your doctor's going to want copies of those, once you choose one," Andy says.

"Oh. Right." That's another thing Dylan has to put on the list, once he's figured out where he's going to live. "Thanks, Andy. Do you know if Coach is in yet?"

"I think so. Want me to come with you?" Andy offers.

"Actually, that'd be great," Dylan blurts out. If he took anything from his conversation with Aaron, it's that things are better when he leans on people who want to help. And Andy's been pretty good to him so far.

Andy gets up and they head down the hall to Coach's office. He's on the phone, so they have to wait outside for a minute. Dylan tries to take some slow, deep breaths, but apparently he's not totally successful at calming himself down; Andy lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

"It'll be fine," Andy says. "And if it's not, I'll be right outside."

"Okay." Dylan squares his shoulders, checks that Coach is off the phone, and heads in for the face-off.

"Strome," Coach says warmly. "Feeling better?"

Dylan takes a seat. "Yeah, about that…"

Coach listens quietly while Dylan blurts the whole thing out. Then he stares, for long enough that Dylan's starting to get _really_ uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry for screwing up your season," Dylan says.

"Son, don't worry about that," Coach replies. Then he shakes his head. "If it were anyone other than you, I'd be concerned at how fast all this is happening."

Dylan swallows hard and nods his head. Chalk up another person who— "Wait, what?"

Coach smiles, a little sadly. "If anyone call pull this off, it's you, Strome."

"Oh," Dylan says. He's a little at a loss for words. "Thanks, Coach."

"So your agent is on the case?" Coach asks, leaning back in his chair. "That's good. Solid thinking."

"Yeah," Dylan replies. "He said he was going to ask you guys not to say anything until we had a plan, so I guess you should probably expect a phone call."

Coach nods. "Figured. We'll just move you to long-term IR with a lower body injury for now, and we'll tell the boys to 'no comment' until their lips fall off." He must notice that Dylan's face is doing something weird, because his brow furrows. "What?"

"I, uh," Dylan says, shrugging a little awkwardly. "I was thinking I'd be done here. You know, off the team."

"You thought…" Coach starts, then trails off. He blinks a few times before shaking his head. "Strome. Dylan. You think we'd, what, throw you out because you got pregnant?" At Dylan's mute nod, he sighs heavily and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _teenagers_.

Dylan swallows hard. "Coach?"

"Look," he says, and he sounds gentle in a way that coaches are really not supposed to ever sound. "You're done playing for Erie. You know it, I know it, but you're still a part of this team. Hell, you're still the _captain_ of this team. You're just gonna have to do it from the sidelines now."

"I," Dylan says faintly.

Coach waits for a moment, but shakes his head when Dylan doesn't say anything else. "If nothing else, it's a simple matter of business," he says. "You're on a contract, Strome. We're legally obligated to not toss you out unless you break the terms of that contract, and getting pregnant doesn't count." He shifts in his seat. "Above and beyond that, though, there's no way we'd do that, not to you and not to anyone else on this team. Understood?"

"Yes, Coach," Dylan says. Damn it, he'd done so well when he dropped Connor off; of course he'd lose it now. He scrubs at his eyes.

"We'll work it out, kiddo," Coach says. "We'll talk to your agent, we'll talk to your family, we'll talk to your billets. We'll talk to you. This changes things, but you're sticking around."

Dylan just nods; he doesn't trust his voice not to crack.

"And we can tell the team when you're ready to," Coach adds. "I'd recommend sooner rather than later, but it's your call."

"Brinksy and the Raddyshes already know," Dylan says. "I'd like to tell the team tomorrow, if that's okay."

"You want to tell them before the Knights game?" Coach asks, amused. "They'll be out for blood."

Dylan shrugs. "Mitch is scratched. It'll be fine."

Coach tips back in his seat and laughs. "You have all the angles covered, don't you, Strome?"

"Not all of them," Dylan mutters before he can help himself, and Coach just laughs harder.

Andy pokes his head in through the doorway. "What's so funny?"

"My life choices," Dylan replies.

"You married a _Knight,_ " Andy replies. "That's hilarious."

Coach starts wheezing.

"I'm leaving now," Dylan announces. "Before Coach has an asthma attack or something."

Coach just flaps a hand at him and lets him go. It would've been so much easier to get out of suicides if Dylan had known Coach's weakness was a well-timed dick joke.

Andy follows Dylan down the hall. "So," he starts. "I have a list of doctors you can choose from if you want to see someone around here."

"I hadn't thought that far ahead," Dylan confesses, "but yeah. I guess I'm staying."

"I already emailed it to you," Andy says. "There are actually a few really good doctors in the area. If you need help deciding, my door is always open."

Okay, that is it. That is the last straw. Dylan stops dead in the hall and hugs him. Andy hugs him back, and Dylan lets himself just stand there for a minute. He's needed this. As much as he loves Mitch, as important as Connor's support is, he's needed someone older and wiser to just be there.

"Thank you," Dylan says.

Andy pats him on the back. "Just so you know, I draw the line at diaper changes," he says, and Dylan laughs.

"You and everyone with a functional sense of smell."

"I'll get you those odor-eater candles for a baby present," Andy promises. "And Febreze."

"I don't think you're supposed to Febreze babies," Dylan says.

Andy snorts. "Well, at least you know that much already."

"I have a head start," Dylan says, grinning a little. "I'll have to ask the doctor if any of those 'how to baby' books are actually decent." He'd really rather not have to learn how to change a diaper from YouTube, but he's aware that he might have to.

"I'll see if I can find a reliable one for you," Andy says. "You sticking around for skate?"

Dylan shakes his head. "Nah, I'm gonna go take a nap. Growing a human is tiring."

"Have a good one," Andy says. "And let me know if you have questions about that list I sent over."

"Will do," Dylan says. He waves to Andy, and then he sets off for the parking lot. Pretzels and nap: perfect afternoon.

-0-

Dylan doesn't actually remember how he managed to fall asleep, but the sun is low in the sky when he wakes up drooling into his pillow. His phone is buzzing on his bedstand, and he flails for it while trying not to get out from under the blankets. "H'lo?"

"Fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Mitch says.

"No, it's okay," Dylan says, yawning and rubbing his face. "What time is it?"

"Half past six," Mitch says. "I just got out of a meeting with Coach. I figured I should call and ask how yours went."

"Good. Really good, actually. He wants me to stay until the end of the season." Dylan hears himself say it, and only then does it really sink in. "Holy shit, babe, this could actually work."

Mitch laughs, sounding a little incredulous. "Coach gave me family dispensation for, like, doctor visits and stuff. If we can schedule them around games, I'm allowed to miss practice to make sure I'm there."

"Wow, really?" Dylan blinks hard, trying to wake himself up some more. "Because having you there is... that'd be awesome."

"I'll do my best," Mitch promises. "I mean, I want to be there, so."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Dylan says. "My agent wants to talk to your agent about staying on top of media stuff. Y'know, because Toronto."

"Yeah, probably a good idea," Mitch says. "How'd that go?"

Dylan smiles to himself. "Really good, actually. Turns out my agent is G-positive."

"Oh, hey," Mitch says, surprised. "That makes it a little easier."

"Yeah, it means I'm a lot more confident he's not going to be a dick," Dylan agrees.

"I approve of people not being dicks," Mitch says. "So. I called Chris, and he's going to be at our parents' place tomorrow at, like, 4:30. You still want to tell them together?"

"Definitely. Andy was there when I told Coach, and it was a lot less pressure." Dylan flop onto his back and sighs. "Wish you were here already."

"We get in around three tomorrow," Mitch says. "I can call you from the bus if you want."

Dylan snorts. "Is there any stopping you?"

"I mean, no, but you don't have to answer."

"Well. I'm telling the team tomorrow after morning skate..." Dylan doesn't even get to finish what he was saying. 

"Text me when you're done," Mitch cuts in.

"I might be a mess," Dylan warns.

Mitch laughs a little. "Babe, you're always a mess. Text me."

Dylan hums. "Yeah, I can manage that." He yawns again. "So, was your coach as unsurprised as mine was when you told him?"

"Yeah." Mitch laughs. "That time he caught us in the trainer's room is still seared into his memory."

"We weren't even _doing_ anything," Dylan groans.

"Because he got there before I got your pants off," Mitch points out.

"Yeah," Dylan says regretfully. He'd really been looking forward to blowing Mitch.

They talk for a while, reminiscing about close calls they've had in the last couple years, until Mrs. Murphy calls Dylan for dinner.

"Food time," Dylan says, aware that he sounds really excited about the idea.

"Guess I should get used to you being more excited about food than pretty much anything else," Mitch teases.

Dylan snorts. "I've always been more excited about food than most things."

"Yeah, but now you like it more than sex," Mitch points out. 

"Apparently that's going to change," Dylan says. "At some point I'm going to be horny, like, 24/7."

Mitch swears. "Are you sure you don't have time for phone sex?"

He hears Mrs. Murphy call him again, and he groans. "I can call back after I eat?" he says hopefully.

"Fine," Mitch says, sighing. "Go feed the kid. I'll just be here, thinking about you jumping me."

"I'd push you up against the wall and hold you there," Dylan says. "Kiss you til you were so hard in your pants you were making a mess of yourself." He waits for Mitch's sharp inhale, then says, "Yeah, so, I'll call you in half an hour!" and hangs up.

He tries not to rush through eating dinner too much—that way leads to heartburn, heartburn leads to crankiness, and crankiness leads to the dark side—but the Murphys can tell something's up. They have a complicated conversation with their eyebrows over plates of pulled pork, and Dylan's stomach swoops when he realises that that'll be him and Mitch at some point. They're going to have that, sitting across the table from their kid, who will wonder what they're talking about. Then Dylan thinks back to all the chirping he and Mitch got at World Juniors. Maybe they're _already_ like that and they just didn't notice, because they can't see their own faces when they have eyebrow conversations.

He rinses his plate in the sink and rushes upstairs to ask Mitch if he has chatty eyebrows. His phone is on the bed where he'd left it, but when he thumbs past the lock screen, he drops it back on the sheets. That. _That_ is Mitch's dick staring back at him.

"Fuck," he says, scrambling to lock the door. He skins out of his clothing before getting back onto the bed. There are a few photos in his inbox: a shot of Mitch's dick with his hand curled loosely around it, one of him cupping himself through his briefs, and one that's got the lower half of his face in it, bottom lip sucked back into his mouth so he can bite at it while he pinches his nipple for the camera.

Dylan snaps a dick pic of his own and sends it through. Then he grabs for the lube and lies down on the bed, waiting.

His phone rings less than thirty seconds later. "Fuck," Mitch breathes over the line. "Why am I not there?"

"Because you're being a responsible career hockey player," Dylan replies, cupping his balls. "Wanna FaceTime?"

"Fuck, yes," Mitch says, and then the call drops. Before Dylan can pull the phone away from his face, it's ringing again.

Dylan accepts the call so fast his thumb skids over the screen and he almost drops his phone. "Hi," he says, not even caring that his voice is already a little breathless.

Mitch groans, long and low, and the camera goes in and out of focus for a few seconds before Dylan can make out what he's seeing, and he almost drops his phone again. "Holy _fuck_ , babe, are you—you're fingering yourself."

"Yes," Mitch hisses. "Sorry, I couldn't wait."

"Uh," Dylan says. He squeezes his dick, then immediately regrets it when he has to close his eyes and block out the view to keep himself from coming. "That's, uh. That's new."

"You liked it. I thought I'd give it a shot."

"What's the verdict?" Dylan asks, eyes transfixed on what he's seeing.

Mitch just lets out a long, shaky breath.

"Fuck," Dylan says. "Mitch, babe. If you were here, that'd—I'd be doing that, making a mess out of you."

"Tomorrow," Mitch promises.

"Get my hands on you," Dylan continues, letting his voice drop. "Getting, fuck, pushing my fingers into you."

"Please. Do it, just—fuck, Dylan."

Dylan strokes himself; he's not going to last long, but fuck it. "Yeah," he pants out. "Fuck you with my fingers, lay you down, suck you off."

Mitch is almost sobbing now, and the camera moves as he desperately touches himself.

"Maybe I'll give you one of my toys to take home," Dylan says thoughtfully. "So you can think of me when you fuck yourself."

"Dylan," Mitch cries out, and then the phone falls, and all Dylan can see is the long line of Mitch's neck as he gasps and shudders his way through his orgasm. That tips Dylan over the edge, and he has to muffle his groans with his pillow as he spills into his hand.

It takes a minute for Dylan to focus on his phone screen, but the view is still the side of Mitch's head. "You alive?" Dylan asks.

"No," Mitch replies.

"What a way to go, though," Dylan says, sighing with satisfaction as he grabs tissues and cleans his hand. "Just wait til you get here. It was _way_ better when you were doing me, instead of me doing myself."

"Shh, no, stop," Mitch whines.

"Hmm, maybe I'll do that tomorrow if I have the time," Dylan muses. "Take a long shower, loosen myself up..."

Mitch honest-to-god whimpers, and Dylan grins in satisfaction. "How can you even think right now?"

Dylan yawns, and stretches out on the bed. "I'm practising trying to think when I'm half asleep, for when we have the kid."

"Dyls," Mitch says, and it's softer, but not like he's falling asleep. "Hey. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? Both of you."

"Yeah, we'll be here," Dylan replies, just as softly.

Mitch finally picks his phone up, and Dylan catches sight of the goofy smile on his face. "Love you."

"Love you too, Marns."

-0-

Dylan wakes up at four in the morning because he's fucking starving. Not that it's much of a surprise; it probably wasn't even nine o'clock when he crashed last night, so he missed his early-evening nap and his midnight snack. He rolls over and grabs some emergency food from his stash in the bedstand. Chocolate peanuts are the breakfast of champions, and if Connor didn't want Dylan to eat them all he wouldn't have left them behind.

He falls asleep again when his stomach quits grumbling, and the next time he wakes up, it's ten minutes before his alarm is set to go off. Normally that'd piss him off, but he's been asleep for long enough that he just rolls out of bed and snags another handful of peanuts on his way to the shower.

When he gets out he gives himself a pep talk in the mirror, going over how he wants to tell the team. He's definitely going to pull Brinksy and the Raddyshes to the side before skate. It'll help, knowing that he's not shocking everyone in the room all at once.

"Okay, Strome, you can do this," Dylan says to his reflection. He brushes his teeth, and fistbumps himself in the mirror for good luck.

Dylan gets to the rink a little early, mostly because he can't wait around the house without losing his nerve. There's only one other car there when he pulls in, and as soon as Dylan parks, Brinksy hops out and runs over. He waves frantically through the window, like he can't possibly wait until Dylan gets out of the car.

Dylan rolls his window down about an inch. "Can I help you with something?"

"You're here!" Brinksy points out, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"I am," Dylan agrees. "And so are you."

"What are you doing here? Are you here to tell Coach?"

Dylan shakes his head. "I did that yesterday."

A lot of expressions try to happen on Brinksy's face at the same time. It's not a good look for him. Finally, he asks, "How'd it go?"

"Really good, actually," Dylan replies. "He wants me to stick around in some capacity while I'm, y'know."

Brinksy waits patiently for Dylan to finish what he was saying. It's the first time Dylan's ever seen that look on his face.

"I'm keeping the baby," Dylan clarifies, his face heating up. How is it that he can tell Coach and his brothers, but telling his friends is so embarrassing? 

"Really?" Brinksy says, and he looks delighted. It's almost as happy as he'd been to win the rookie scoring race last season, holy shit. "Stromer, that's—that's..." He huffs. "Get out of the fucking car so I can hug you, asshole."

Dylan snorts and rolls up the window. As if _he's_ the one who was desperate to talk. "Are the Raddyshes here yet?" he asks as he steps out of the car. 

Brinksy waves at the still-empty parking lot. "No," he says, and then he very gently hug-checks Dylan into the side of his car.

Dylan grins and facewashes him. "Get my skates, minion."

"Wait, you're still skating with us?" Brinksy looks torn. "I mean, awesome, but is that a good idea? With, y'know..." He trails off and makes a waving gesture in front of his torso that Dylan's going to charitably assume means "the baby."

"I'm not playing contact, but Coach didn't say I couldn't hit the ice. And Andy would've said something if he thought it was a bad idea," Dylan points out. "Figure skaters do it all the time." Dylan might possibly have double- and triple-checked this morning before he put his gear in the car.

"You should wear the no-contact jersey," Brinksy says, crossing his arms over his chest like he's preparing for a fight. "Just in case."

"Duh." Dylan elbows him in the side. "Now go get my skates."

Brinksy snaps a sloppy salute. "Aye, aye, captain."

Dylan ducks his head and smiles to himself. He knows this isn't going to be easy; he knows there are going to be really difficult sacrifices ahead. But it's nice that, for now, his team isn't one of them.

The Raddyshmobile pulls into the lot just as Dylan and Brinksy get to the arena doors, and Brinksy waves as hard as he can while carrying all of his own gear plus Dylan's skates. "Guys!" he yells.

"Maybe let me break my own news," Dylan suggests.

Brinsky gives him a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Just don't put me in time out."

Dylan groans. "How many more dad jokes have you got?"

"I Googled," Brinksy says, clearly satisfied with himself. "Just in case."

Dylan makes a mental note to ask Coach very nicely to confiscate Brinksy's phone. "You lose godfather privileges," he says.

Brinksy scoffs. "As if Davo didn't claim those, like, the second you told him."

"What did Davo do now?" Darren asks as he and Taylor walk up. "Because last time Davo did something, there was a wedding."

Dylan pastes a smile on his face. "Well, knowing him he's probably planning a baby shower."

Darren blinks at him for a minute, and then checks over his shoulder.

"What?" Dylan asks.

"Just making sure Marner didn't sneak over here early."

Taylor nods along with his brother. "Your husband is scary."

"He's seriously the least threatening person I've ever played against," Dylan says blankly. "Well. Except Brinksy."

Taylor points at Brinksy's face. "You mean that guy?"

Brinksy bares his teeth. "There may have been some graphic threatening."

Dylan's oddly touched. Brinksy barely comes up to his shoulder, but he's sure that if it came to it, Brinksy would be right at the front of whatever fight Dylan pointed him at. "Oh. Well."

"So you're having a kid?" Darren asks. "For real?"

"Super real," Dylan confirms. "I'm no-contact as of today."

Taylor grins. "That's pretty super-duper extra real."

"It's going to be even more real, actually, whatever level that is," Dylan says. He takes a breath. "I'm telling the team after skate. I just wanted to let you guys know first."

"Thank fuck," Darren says in a rush, and then grimaces. "I mean, do whatever you think is right, Dyls. No rush."

"Keeping secrets gives him a stomachache," Taylor fake-whispers.

Dylan laughs. "Thanks, guys." He gestures at the doors. "Let's go get our gear on, eh?"

Morning skate is uneventful, aside from Brinksy hovering at Dylan's elbow. "I'm not going to fall, asshole," Dylan says eventually. "I can skate better than I can walk."

"You can't walk right?" Brinksy hisses. "I thought that was supposed to be later on! It's not even big enough to affect your balance yet!"

Darren skates up behind him and taps him on the helmet. "Say that a little louder. I don't think Coach heard you from all the way over at the bench."

Some of the guys are giving them weird looks, but that's honestly par for the course with Brinksy, so Dylan lets it slide. He turns a pleading look to Darren. "Make him go away."

Darren grabs Brinksy by the back of his jersey and starts dragging him away. When Brinksy falls over he just keeps going, making him slide across the ice on his ass.

"I'm just trying to help," Brinksy wails loudly, then throws himself down on the ice so Darren has to crouch to keep dragging him. It's hilarious, and Dylan's happy all over again that he doesn't have to lose this.

He's a sweaty mess by the time he gets off the ice, but so is everybody else. Showering and changing is its usual raucous affair, except when the quicker guys finish and try to head out, Coach sends them back to their stalls. "Got something to talk about," he says, and the butterflies explode in Dylan's stomach.

His mouth goes dry, and he grabs for his water bottle. He's supposed to be a role model for these guys, someone they can count on and look up to. Coach says something Dylan doesn't quite catch, about the team coming to him or Andy if they have questions, not Dylan.

And then all eyes turn.

"I'm out," Dylan croaks. "My season's done. I'll still be around for the team, but I—"

He has to take another long swallow of his water. His eyes are drawn to his wedding ring as he does, and, well. That's a place to start.

"I made some big decisions over the weekend, and it wasn't easy. The last thing I want is to let you all down." He takes a deep breath and sees Brinksy shoot him a not-at-all-covert thumbs up from across the room. "So, I got married on Monday," he says, waving his hand for everyone to see. "And I'm having a kid."

You could hear a pin drop in the locker room. Someone in the back ventures, "So when you say 'you,' you mean..."

"I mean I'll be on IR for the next nine months. Possibly longer."

"Wow," someone else mutters.

Brinksy clears his throat loudly. "And we're all super happy for you," he says, sounding more threatening than Dylan's probably ever heard him before. "And nobody's going to give you shit at all."

"Not a soul," Taylor adds from the other side of the room. He looks deadly serious. "Not a word of it. You're still our captain."

"Otters for life," Darren chimes in.

A murmur of agreement rolls across the locker room, but Dylan doesn't look to see which of them actually mean it.

"So when's the bachelor party?" Marchment pipes up.

He gets pelted with dirty socks.

"You were there and you didn't even know it," Brinksy says, sprawling back in his stall. "I _told_ Daver the huge picture of his head would help fool everyone."

The team falls apart laughing, and Marchy is the new centre of attention. It's... about as close to perfect as Dylan could hope for.

He's still glad Mitch is scratched for tonight; it's probably not going to go well once the team realise he's cost them their captain, but for now Dylan sits at his stall and lets the team have their moment. Marchy's earned everything he's getting, and as a bonus it's fucking hilarious. 

Dylan catches Coach's eye across the locker room and raises an eyebrow. Coach hides his mouth with his hand, but Dylan _knows_ now. Coach is only human. And this team of theirs is ridiculous.


	7. Chapter 7

Dylan's woken up from another impromptu nap when Mitch calls from the bus. They somehow manage to keep the conversation short, and Dylan heads out to meet him at the hotel. Half the team wolf whistle at them, and even Mitch's coach raises an eyebrow in their general direction, smirking knowingly.

"I didn't tell them about the baby yet," Mitch says when they get back to the car. "Didn't want my family to find out before I can tell them myself."

"Do they know we got married?" Dylan asks. "Or are we springing it all on them at the same time?"

"My road roomie saw the ring, so I told everyone." Mitch ducks his head, trying to hide a smile. "I don't think I'm ever going to hear the end of it."

"My team took it pretty well," Dylan volunteers. "Or, well, they were mostly all shocked, and then Brinksy and the Raddyshes threatened the shit out of them and Coach kinda just let it happen."

Mitch laughs. "That's awesome."

"It could have been a lot worse, that's for sure," Dylan replies, grinning over at him. "Still. I'm glad we're doing this part together."

"Me too." Mitch puts his hand on Dylan's knee and leaves it there the whole way home.

The Murphys are at work when Dylan gets there, which is good, because it means Dylan doesn't feel awkward about falling on Mitch in the living room. Mitch pulls him close and sticks his nose in Dylan's hair, and they just sprawl there on the sofa for a few minutes.

"We should probably call your parents," Mitch says after a little while. "I'm supposed to be at the rink by six, but we should be able to get both calls in before then."

"Yeah," Dylan mumbles. "You're prepared for this to be shitty, right?"

Mitch hugs him tight. "I'm prepared to punch whoever I need to."

"Please don't punch my parents," Dylan says. "That's not going to help anything."

Mitch kisses him on the side of the head. "Only if I _really_ need to," he promises.

"Good enough," Dylan says. "Let's do this."

It takes a little while to get everything set up; Dylan calls Matt and Ryan first and then adds his parents to the call. The screen is crowded with so many video feeds going, but Dylan wants to be able to see everyone's faces. Matt gives him a thumbs up, and Dylan takes a deep breath.

"Hey," he croaks out. "So, uh."

Dad sighs. "Now what?"

Dylan squeezes Mitch's hand, and Mitch squeezes right back. He looks at his parents, but then his gaze drops to Matt, who's at least smiling and not looking like he's bracing for the worst. "Well, um. You're going to be grandparents in September."

"Well," Dylan's mom says. And then there's silence for a while.

"Not me!" Matt says, and Dylan could hug him. "I'm going to be the cool uncle. Dibs, Ry, you gotta be loser uncle."

Dylan's dad gets up and steps out of frame.

"Dad," Dylan starts, leaning towards the camera, but Mom shakes her head.

"This is too much, Dylan," she says. "After everything we've sacrificed to get you where you are, and when you're so close to making it..." She trails off and sighs. "I just don't understand."

"We didn't plan on this happening," Mitch says when Dylan can't get words out. "Not now. Not for a while, if ever. We didn't even know it was a possibility until the test came back." He takes a deep breath. "But we talked about it, and Dylan decided that he wants to go through with it, so yeah. A year off, and then he goes and plays."

"You've always been so responsible," Dylan's mom says, as if she didn't even hear Mitch. "I don't know where we went wrong."

"I'm sorry," Dylan replies automatically.

"I'm not," Mitch says loudly. "Mrs. Strome, look, I know this isn't what you had in mind—"

That seems to snap Mom's attention away from Dylan. "I'm not asking for your input, Mr. Marner," she says crisply. "You'll know when I want it. Don't expect it to be soon."

"Jesus, Mom," Ryan cuts in. "It's not like Dylan got caught juicing." 

"I can't believe you're not freaking out over this, Ryan," Mom says. "You, of all people, know how much work Dylan has in front of him. You know how this will affect his future."

"How is freaking out going to help?" Ryan asks. "Getting pissed at Dylan isn't going to help make things _easier_."

Mom huffs. "They haven't thought this through. A baby is a lot more work—"

Dylan has to close his eyes and try to breathe through the knot in his chest. "Do you think I don't _know_ that?"

"Frankly, no," Mom says, glaring at him. "If you did—"

Mitch mutes her video. "Sorry, but if I had to keep listening to that I would've ended up breaking my promise."

"I'm gonna throw up," Dylan says weakly. "I haven't had morning sickness once, but this might be the start."

He gets up out of his seat and heads for the bathroom. He and the toilet have a staring contest for a few minutes, but being away from the sight of his mother's pissed-off face helps. It's nice and cold in there, so he closes the lid of the toilet and rests his head on his arms.

Mitch comes into the bathroom a few minutes later and sits beside him. Dylan waits for him to say something, but he just wraps an arm around Dylan's waist.

"Did you hang up?" Dylan finally asks.

"Yeah. Your mom didn't want to talk to me anyway."

Dylan's stomach revolts again, but he sucks in a few breaths until it settles. "That was worse than I thought it would be."

Mitch puts his hand on the back of Dylan's neck. "Ryan wants to call you later and apologise, if that's okay with you."

God. Dylan managed that whole phone call without crying once, but now he can't stop the tears. "Really?"

Mitch just hugs him and holds out Dylan's phone. Sure enough, there's a text from Ryan. _Congratulations,_ it says. _Sorry abt mom and dad. Can I call later?_

Dylan's eyes blur with tears, and he can't see to reply. He hands his phone back to Mitch. "Tell him I'll call after we talk to your parents." If that goes as badly as talking to Dylan's parents did, he's going to need someone who's willing to cheer him up.

"We can wait," Mitch ventures. "If you don't want to tell them right now, babe, I understand. We can do it some other time."

Dylan shakes his head. "I need to know what we're up against."

"Okay," Mitch says reluctantly. "We've got half an hour until Chris is at my parents' place, though. Maybe we should take a snack break."

"You're not going to be able to bribe me with pretzels forever," Dylan says.

Mitch smiles at him. "But I can for now."

He helps Dylan off the floor and holds his hand while they walk down to the kitchen. There's a big bag of pretzels that Dylan doesn't remember seeing there yesterday. He shoots Mitch a questioning look, and Mitch blinks back innocently. "Totally wasn't me," he says. "But a little bird might have mentioned that you and pretzels are going steady."

The Murphys, then. God, Dylan owes them so much already, and he's going to eat their cupboards bare in the months coming up. And here come the waterworks again, dammit. "I need to give them more money for food," Dylan says.

"Talk to team management," Mitch says. "I know in London, they'd be able to work something out with the whole billet package. Erie's probably the same."

Dylan nods and grabs two handfuls of pretzels. He does feel better once he's munched through them, and Mitch distracts him with stories about a prank that hilariously backfired on Juolevi on the bus ride down. He's feeling a lot more settled when they head back back to the computer to make the second big family call. It's both hilarious and horrifying—hilarifying?—how much Dylan's mood these days is affected by how much he can stuff in his mouth.

Food. How much _food_ he can stuff in his mouth.

"You good to go?" Mitch asks when they settle onto the sofa. "I can stall them, I swear."

Dylan takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. "I'm good."

"Okay," Mitch says. "And hey, for the record, I never promised you I wouldn't punch _my_ family." He grins as Dylan sputters, but he can't say anything, because Mitch's parents accept the incoming call before he can think of what to say. 

Chris leans into frame and waves manically. "Hi, little bro."

"Hey." Mitch's face breaks into a grin that makes Dylan's whole chest hurt, but in a good way. Fuck, he hopes this doesn't cost Mitch his family. "How are you guys?"

"We're fine," Mitch's dad says. "Just concerned about why you're calling."

"No stalling," Chris adds. "I want all the deets."

"Well, Uncle Chris, we just wanted to say hi," Mitch says, and Dylan holds his breath as he watches it click.

Chris laughs, clearly delighted. "Wait, you put a biscuit in his basket?"

Mitch covers his face with both hands. "Oh my god."

"Oh my god," Dylan echoes, horrified but laughing anyway. "Mitch, babe, our kid cannot be related to him, I'm sorry. Not allowed."

"Too late," Mitch replies, waving his hand so his wedding ring catches the light.

"Fine," Dylan says, sighing exaggeratedly. "I guess he can stay."

"Congrats on making an honest man of my brother," Chris says.

"We'll have to have a proper wedding reception over the summer," Mitch's mom chimes in.

"Sure," Dylan says vaguely. He's not sure he wants to think that far ahead right now, but Mrs. Marner seems to be reacting... pretty well, all told.

"How are you feeling, Dylan?" Mitch's dad asks.

"Hungry," Dylan replies. It's a safe bet. "Um. A little surprised that you're not..." He waves his hand vaguely.

Chris snorts. "Dude, did you forget that I'm a carrier?"

"No?" Dylan ventures. He had actually completely forgotten that tidbit. "Still, being a carrier is different from, you know. Carrying."

Chris leans towards the camera, conspiratorial. "Don't tell Mitch, but Mom and Dad started a college fund the first time they saw you two play together. Just in case."

Dylan chokes on his laughter as Mitch squawks. "Lies!"

Mitch's parents exchange a look. "Well," Mr. Marner says after a moment.

His mom coughs. "We thought if we didn't end up needing it, it could be an injury fund. If something happened."

"Oh my god," Mitch says faintly. He shakes his head after a minute. "Wait, though. I never had the testing done. I have no idea if I'm a carrier or not."

"It tends to run in families," Mrs. Marner says, shrugging. "Chris is; we figured we'd rather be safe than sorry."

"And there's that new study," Mr. Marner adds. "They're developing a more accurate test for the gene, and they're finding that if a carrier gets pregnant, his partner is almost always a carrier, too. You know scientists and how they debate things, but the theory is really picking up steam."

"You need to tell us where you're staying," Chris adds. "So I can send you baby swag."

"We're not sure yet," Dylan says. "We haven't actually known for that long, so we kind of have to decide on lot of crap." He rubs at his neck; suddenly he wishes they had all of their shit figured out. It would look a lot better.

"Deets!" Chris says firmly. Then he casts a sidelong glance at his parents. "PG deets."

"Parental gross-outs not recommended," Mitch's mom adds.

"I'm due at the end of September," Dylan says. "That's the only thing we know so far."

Chris gets a calculating look on his face, and then his eyebrows shoot up. On camera they see him pull out his phone and start texting.

Dylan's unsurprised when Mitch's phone pings seconds later. _you fucked at world juniors?!?_

Mitch just raises an eyebrow. "Congratulations! You can count."

Mitch's parents exchange another look. Clearly they don't want to have this conversation any more than Dylan does.

_congrats on popping your international cherry_ , Chris sends next.

Mitch snorts, and Dylan slaps a hand across his mouth. "Thanks, Chris, shut up," he says.

"We should let you boys go," Mitch's dad says loudly, "before these two try to get into a virtual slapfight."

"Congratulations, boys," Mrs. Marner says warmly. "If you need anything, Dylan, don't hesitate to get in touch."

"Thanks, Mrs. Marner." Dylan _refuses_ to get choked up this time, damn it.

"Of course," she says. "You're family."

"And you know how they are about family," Mitch mutters darkly. Dylan vividly remembers the draft, Chris plastered to Mitch's side whenever they had free time. He probably hadn't meant to cockblock, but still.

They hang up after another round of goodbyes, and Dylan blinks at Mitch. "Wow."

Mitch grimaces. "I know they're kind of intense, but they mean well."

"Good wow," Dylan promises. "I was kind of expecting it to go like my family, part two."

"I think Chris would've tackled them," Mitch replies, his face blushing bright red.

Dylan tries to respond but he ends up yawning instead. "I think I'll text Ryan, and tell him to call tomorrow." All the drama's taken a lot out of him.

Mitch nods and steals Dylan's phone. "We have an hour," he says. "Nap. I'll let Ryan know."

Dylan smiles lazily, and kisses Mitch before heading upstairs to crawl back into bed.

-0-

Dylan's pretty glad that Mitch was scratched for the game; Coach wasn't kidding when he said the team would be out for blood. They're playing so hard that Dylan isn't surprised when they pull out a 7-3 win. Mitch ducks away at the end to talk to his team, so Dylan swings by the locker room for a few minutes.

The guys are in a great mood, obviously, but Taylor cheers when Dylan walks in. "I scored you a goal!"

"I saw, buddy," Dylan says. "Nice one."

Taylor flaps his hand at Dylan. "Not you," he says. "Little Dylan."

"Or Dylan-ina," Marchy calls.

Dylan makes a face and points at Marchy. "No," he warns. "You're all terrible at this. Naming privileges are officially revoked."

Marchy pouts. "I made a list!"

"Oh, look at the time! I've gotta go," Dylan says, without actually looking at his phone.

Brinksy nods solemnly. "Booty calls."

Dylan opens his mouth to reply, but there's loud knocking at the locker room door, and of course it's Mitch poking his head in. His face lights up when he sees Dylan. "Hey."

The entire locker room cracks up laughing.

"You're all the worst," Dylan announces. "Good win, boys." He takes Mitch's hand and drags him outside. Loud jeering follows them all the way down the hall.

"Is it too late to defect to the Knights?" Dylan asks.

Mitch snorts. "Like they're any better. Tkachuk gave me a box of rainbow condoms wrapped in rainbow paper." He pauses. "And then took them back when I opened them, because I told them you're already pregnant."

"Wait, you told them?" Dylan says, stopping in the hallway.

Mitch shrugs and takes Dylan's hand as they walk towards the car. "Yeah. They asked if I was going back to the hotel, and I said no, I was going home with my husband so I could read a bedtime story to our kid."

"Let me guess," Dylan says, "half of them thought it was a prank."

"Well, yeah," Mitch says. "But then someone made a comment about how they would have all noticed if you'd had a kid, and Dvorak said something about your mysterious lower body injury..."

Dylan snorts. "What did Juolevi say? I thought he was going to pass out at World Juniors."

"It was more weird gurgling noises than words," Mitch says gleefully.

"You _have_ to tell the team about how he tripped over his feet scrambling out of our room." He'd fallen right on his ass, and then tipped onto his back making a squawking noise. Dylan and Mitch had had to stop fucking because they were laughing too hard.

"I'm saving that one," Mitch says. "I don't even know what the special occasion will be, but I'm saving it."

Dylan kisses him, because Mitch is the best. "Let's go home. We still have to consummate our wedding."

"What the _fuck_ ," someone yelps behind them, slamming the door to the locker room without coming into the hall, and Dylan laughs all the way to the car.

When they get back to the house, the Murphys take one look at them and announce that they're going out for dinner. Dylan doesn't even pause to thank them; he's going to get them, like, a giant fruit basket, and then not even eat it himself. They pause to wolf down some leftover lasagna, and then Dylan drags Mitch upstairs.

Mitch is on him as soon as the door closes, locking it and touching Dylan like he's made of glass. His hand skims down Dylan's ribs and comes to rest on his stomach.

"We're really doing this," Mitch breathes.

Dylan nods, because fuck, everyone important knows, now. It's real, it's happening; it's out there in the world. Mitch smiles at him, and Dylan can't help but smile back. "I love you," Dylan says. "We're doing this."

Mitch leans in and kisses him so carefully it reminds Dylan of the very first time, when they'd gotten off the ice and just _known_ their chemistry was about more than the game. When Mitch had smiled nervously, and brushed the back of his hand against Dylan's, and Dylan had pressed back. He grabs Mitch's hand now and tangles their fingers together like he hadn't managed to do back then. He'd been sixteen and terrified, then, of how much things were changing between the two of them, and how fast. He's maybe still terrified now, but he's sure of Mitch in a way he wouldn't have been able to even grasp then.

Dylan slides his free hand into Mitch's hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Mitch steps into him, sliding his hands around Dylan's waist and pressing them together. They haven't had time for slow or sweet or quiet in a long time. Dylan wants to take his time now, to lay Mitch out and learn him all over again.

They make it to the bed eventually, and Dylan strips off his shirt. Mitch stares, pretty obviously looking to see if his body's changed.

"I can't tell," Dylan admits. "I don't think you can see yet, but I'm not actually sure."

"I can't tell either," Mitch confesses, holding his hand out to Dylan. Dylan goes to him easily, watching as Mitch touches his stomach gently.

"You can't hurt it," Dylan says. "It's way too small, and it's pretty well protected."

Mitch shrugs a little. "Still."

Dylan straddles his hips and pushes him back on the bed. "Still not stopping me from getting laid."

"Duh," Mitch says, sliding his hands up Dylan's thighs.

"Just being clear." Dylan leans down and kisses him, pushing his way into Mitch's mouth. Mitch tilts his head and goes with it, letting Dylan kiss him however he wants until they're both a little breathless.

"Did you have something in mind for tonight?" Mitch asks, nosing his way down Dylan's neck.

"Not in particular," Dylan says, tilting his head. "You, me, naked. Past that I'm up for suggestions."

"Naked sounds good to me."

"Great," Dylan says. He sits up, considering Mitch sprawled out beneath him. "I'd offer to help you with all of that, but it will definitely go faster if we don't help each other."

Mitch sighs, but when Dylan moves off the bed he doesn't grab for him. Dylan drops his pants and boxers to the floor and hops around to peel his socks off. He loses his balance a little and has to catch himself on a wall, but Mitch isn't laughing when Dylan finally catches his balance. He's managed to strip himself successfully, and he's just staring, eyes dark. When he sees Dylan looking, he licks his lips.

"Is that a request?" Dylan says, moving forward and resting his hands on Mitch's shoulders. His dick is right at Mitch's eye level.

"Hell yes," Mitch agrees. He flicks a grin up at Dylan, then braces his hands on Dylan's thighs and leans in.

"Fuck," Dylan says before Mitch even gets his mouth on him.

Mitch smirks. "Not without at least three forms of protection."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dylan says. He pushes his hips forward, just a little, so his dick brushes Mitch's lower lip. "And not until you get tested, especially if that study is true. We don't need both of us knocked up at the same time."

Mitch shudders. "No fucking way."

"Yeah, well, we'll figure it out." Dylan says. He grins as he drums his fingers against Mitch's shoulders. "If that's a thing you want to try, I've got fingers. And toys."

Mitch makes a desperate noise and wraps a hand around the base of Dylan's dick. Then he swallows him down eagerly. Dylan has to grip Mitch's shoulders tightly; Mitch doesn't go slowly or easily, and fuck, it's good but it's also a lot of sensation.

"Wait," Dylan says. "I want to at least touch you this time before I come." Mitch groans and Dylan digs his fingers in. "Babe, c'mon."

Mitch pulls back reluctantly, and makes room for Dylan to join him on the bed. Dylan doesn't waste any time; he straddles Mitch and leans in to kiss him hard and sloppy. He runs his hands over Mitch's skin, making the most of being completely alone with him for once. One of Mitch's hands goes around the back of Dylan's neck while the other trails down Dylan's side until he's pulling Dylan in to grind against him.

"We already did that," Dylan gasps. "Zero points for originality, Marns."

"You should get your fingers in me," Mitch suggests. "But first you should come all over me."

"Fuck." Dylan rolls his hips. "Thanks for the inspiration."

"C'mon," Mitch urges. "C'mon, Dyls. Want you to come now so you can take your time on me, and I can suck you off again later, all messy like you like it."

Dylan doesn't really need to be _encouraged_ to wreck Mitch, but it's the thought that counts. Especially when the thought comes from a dirty mind. He drops his forehead to Mitch's shoulder and thrusts against him. "Touch me," he breathes out.

Mitch's palm smacks onto his ass. Dylan hisses into Mitch's neck and grinds against him. He's close, he's so close.

"D'you need me to—?" Mitch makes a jerkoff motion with his other hand.

"Yes," Dylan chokes out. He shifts so Mitch can get his hand between them, and when Mitch's fingers close around him, Dylan groans. He just goes with it, bracing himself so Mitch can take him apart. Mitch presses down on Dylan's ass, urging him to thrust, and keeps his hand tight around his dick. Dylan closes his eyes and goes for it, and when Mitch turns his head and bites Dylan's earlobe, he groans and comes.

He still trying to enjoy the afterglow when his phone starts ringing,

"That had better fucking not be Brinksy," Mitch says darkly.

Dylan checks the caller ID and starts laughing. "He just can't get enough of our sex lives. Want to know a good way to get him to not call when he knows we're probably fucking, though?" He swipes to answer the call and drops it to the pillow, right next to Mitch's face. "Brinksy, we're busy," he says, and grabs Mitch's dick. Mitch bucks his hips up and groans.

"Fuck you!" Brinksy yells. "Next time I'll throw your skates under the zamboni."

Mitch frowns. "Why are your skates at the rink?"

"Shh, let's not fight in front of the kids," Dylan says.

"I'm hanging up," Brinksy says. "If somebody fills your skates with baby powder I accept no responsibility."

"That sounds like an admission," Dylan says, and his phone beeps to signal that Brinsky hung up. "You'd think he'd just text."

"And face the wrath of Connor?"

"Connor would know better than to call when he knew we were fucking," Dylan says bluntly. "Connor would put my skates in his car and just give them to me tomorrow."

Mitch pinches him. "Don't think I'm letting you get away with not telling me why your skates were there in the first place."

"Duh. For skating." Dylan runs his hand down Mitch's ribs. "Do you really want to talk right now?"

"No," Mitch says. "But—later." He gasps the end of that out as Dylan squeezes his dick again.

"Hmm. Don't want this to be over before we get to the good part," Dylan muses. He leans down and kisses Mitch.

Mitch kisses him for a few seconds, but turns his head away. "Maybe get the lube then," he says.

Dylan is nothing if not obliging. He takes his hands off Mitch and reaches into the nightstand. Mitch doesn't even say anything about the admittedly giant tube Dylan keeps stashed there. Dylan knew he married Mitch for a reason.

"How do you want this?" Dylan asks, shoving the tube between Mitch's back and the bed. It's not gonna warm up that much, he knows from experience, but it won't hurt.

"I want to see you," Mitch says. "I want to watch your face when you fuck me."

"Babe," Dylan groans. His dick makes an interested little jerk, but he mentally tells it to wait a goddamned minute. He's got work to do here. He wants to finger Mitch until his hand cramps up. And after that, hey, he's got two hands. Not to mention a drawer full of toys.

Mitch lets his legs fall open when Dylan scoots down the bed, and Dylan takes the opportunity to lick a line up the inside of his thigh while he settles.

"I missed you," Dylan says in the general vicinity of Mitch's cock.

Mitch pats his hair. "It missed you too, babe."

"Two days is too long," Dylan complains. "What am I supposed to do when you go home and my sheets still smell like you?"

"Dyls," Mitch says softly. His fingers settle into Dylan's hair and rub at his scalp.

Dylan can't take it when Mitch is sweet, so he leans over him and mouths at his nipple. Mitch hums and arches his back a little, but keeps his hand right where it is. Dylan grabs the lube. "Wanna make sure you don't forget me."

"There's literally no way I could," Mitch says. "I say this as a person who is occasionally called upon to stop pucks with my head, babe. Nothing could make me forget you."

Dylan groans and drops his head to Mitch's chest. "Look, I get what you're going for, and that's nice. But can we not joke about traumatic brain injuries in bed?"

Mitch grins at him. "Maybe you should think of a creative way to shut me up."

"Sure," Dylan says. He shifts down the bed and takes the head of Mitch's dick into his mouth, sucking hard.

"Oh god. Oh _fuck_ ," Mitch gasps.

While he's good and _distracted_ Dylan opens the lube and spreads some on his fingers. He keeps sucking while he presses against Mitch's hole. Being relaxed makes this a _lot_ easier.

Mitch breathes out raggedly. "Go for it," he says.

Dylan rolls his tongue around the head of Mitch's dick and pushes in with his finger. He holds his breath so he can listen to every little sound Mitch makes, and fuck, is he glad he did. Mitch takes a shuddery little breath as Dylan pushes slowly, slowly in. Every time he moves, Mitch tries to push down and get more.

"Dyls, please," he sobs.

Dylan twists his finger, and Mitch starts getting loud enough that he's glad the house is empty. Mitch is never quiet in bed, but this is a whole new level. Dylan loves it. He grabs the lube, squeezing some directly onto Mitch, and starts massaging the edge of his hole with a second finger.

"I can take it," Mitch says. "I want to. Please."

You only have the honeymoon once, so Dylan goes for it. Mitch groans, long and low, and he clenches down when Dylan gets in up to his second knuckle. His dick is leaking steadily in Dylan's mouth, and there's nothing to do except keep going—keep sucking, and try to ignore how slick Dylan's chin is getting.

Dylan pulls his fingers out a little and thrusts back in, and Mitch bucks up off the bed, crying out. He seems pretty happy with two fingers, so Dylan does it again. Part of being a good captain is knowing when to push for more goals, and when to just focus on being clutch. Mitch keeps responding beautifully, keeps making noises that are going to get Dylan hard just from thinking about them in the future. Dylan keeps fucking him, keeps pushing him right to the edge.

When Mitch comes his dick slips out of Dylan's mouth, spurting all over his neck and chest. It's a mess, just like Mitch promised. Dylan dips his head down to suck at the tip of Mitch's cock when he starts to settle, and Mitch keens as he grabs at Dylan's hair. Dylan twitches his fingers; Mitch grips Dylan's hair tight, pulling a little.

"I fucking hate you," Mitch chokes out.

Dylan hums a little. Mitch likes it to be a little too much, sometimes. He'll pull Dylan off if he doesn't want it. He tongues at the underside of Mitch's cock and eases his fingers out. Then he cups Mitch's balls with his clean hand. Fuck, he's totally at Dylan's mercy.

Mitch's toes curl. "You're the worst."

Dylan bobs his head a little in reply.

"No-one else would put up with this shit," Mitch says, his chest still heaving. "You're—Oh, fuck, do that again." Dylan digs his nails into Mitch's ass cheek again, and pulls off of his dick so he can lean down to bite at the red marks he's leaving there. If the guys are going to chirp Mitch anyway, they might as well have good reason.

Mitch swats weakly at Dylan's arm. "My turn."

Dylan snorts. Mitch looks like he could barely lift a feather. "We have all night, babe. Or, well, until I need to sleep."

"I said I'd suck you off," Mitch insists. "Gonna take back my chance to?"

And, well, Dylan's not all the way hard again, but it won't take him long to get there. Mitch knows it, if the way he's raising an eyebrow is any indication. Dylan is not stupid, despite the series of questionable decisions that led them to this point. He scoots out from between Mitch's legs and sprawls next to him, making sure the gross lubed-up hand is hanging off the bed. E. coli would probably ruin the mood.

It takes Mitch another minute to catch his breath, but when he does, he rolls until he's mostly on top of Dylan, smiling down at him. "Hi."

Then he proceeds to give Dylan the laziest blowjob ever. He drags Dylan over onto his side, and pillows his head on his arm. Mitch doesn't even have to move; he just makes Dylan rock into his mouth.

"Gonna make me do all the work," Dylan gripes, but there's only so sad he's going to be about Mitch's mouth on him.

Mitch puts his hand on Dylan's ass and shoves him forward.

"Fuck," Dylan chokes out as his cock slides along the roof of Mitch's mouth. He momentarily worries about Mitch's gag reflex, but this isn't their first time. Also good is that Mitch doesn't have braces anymore. There's nothing hot about having pubic hair pulled out.

Mitch gives his ass an encouraging pat, and, yeah. Okay. Dylan pulls back and snaps his hips in. He cradles the back of Mitch's head gently, with his _clean_ hand, thank you very much. "Don't give me that look," Dylan says as he fucks Mitch's face. He's rolling his eyes when Dylan comes down his throat.

Dylan pulls out and collapses onto the bed. "Nice," he says, patting vaguely at Mitch's hair. "So. Should we send Brinksy a snap?"

Mitch grins. "You're the one who has to live with his rage."

"That's a solid yes, then," Dylan decides. "I'm one hundred percent confident in my ability to handle him."

They're both shirtless and red-faced in the picture. Dylan's pretty sure no prank he ever pulls from this day forward will topple this moment of maximum annoyance.

Life is good.

-0-

It's an early morning, made worse by the fact that cleaning up last night turned into round three. And four. Dylan has to drive Mitch back to the hotel before the bus leaves so they're up and out by eight, which isn't _super_ early, but all Dylan wants to do is sleep.

"You can crash again when you get home," Mitch points out. He looks half-asleep himself, curled up against the window.

Dylan huffs a little. "Well, my human space heater is leaving. It won't be as good."

Mitch gives him a slow smile and reaches out, laying his hand on Dylan's knee and squeezing. "Yeah, well. At least you won't have to face the Inquisition about your suddenly un-secret family on the four-hour bus ride home."

"Don't fall asleep," Dylan advises. "They will definitely draw dicks all over your face."

"To be honest, I'm more concerned about, like, having my stall papered with safe sex pamphlets for the rest of the season," Mitch says. "They're not allowed to use Sharpie anymore, so the dicks would wash off. It takes forever to scrape shit out of a stall, though."

Dylan snorts. "Voice of experience?"

"They were very supportive when I was named co-captain," Mitch says dryly. "Some smartass got a bunch of pictures from somewhere and put those cartoon hearts around my face, and then stuck them up all over the place. They did it to Dvorak, too."

"Wow," Dylan says, delighted. "Marchy just put protein powder in my helmet so my hair got all funky. You win."

"Yay," Mitch snorts. They're silent as Dylan pulls into the hotel and parks by the lobby. Dylan takes Mitch's hand and they just sit for a little while.

"I'm gonna call and make a doctor's appointment," Dylan says after a little while. "Get everything checked out, all that crap."

"Let me know when," Mitch says. "I'll send you my schedule. Maybe the doctor can work with us on arranging the appointments around it."

Dylan snorts. "Babe, your schedule is already programmed into my calendar," he says. "Also, it's online."

Mitch rolls his eyes. "Promo shit," he says vaguely. "Practices that I'm not supposed to miss, captain things, you know. Not just the games."

Right. Dylan rolls his eyes, mostly at himself. He knows perfectly well that there's more to hockey than the games. "Okay. Good."

"What's it called? Pregnancy brain?" Mitch says, grinning. "You've got a built-in excuse. Embrace it."

"Eight more months," Dylan says. "Great. I'm off the hook for your birthday, right?" Mitch opens his mouth, then closes it. He's definitely blushing when he looks away. Dylan absolutely needs to know what that's all about, so he squeezes Mitch's hand. "What?"

"Pretty sure I've got my gift already," Mitch mutters.

Dylan's entire body melts a little, and he grips Mitch's hand extra tightly. "Oh my god, shut up," he says with feeling, but when Mitch finally looks at him, he can't contain his helpless smile, and Mitch just smiles back at him.

Dylan isn't sure how long they sit there, just smiling at each other like idiots, but Mitch jerks and turns when someone coughs loudly outside the car. He doesn't let go of Dylan's hand as he rolls the window down. "Yeah?"

Dvorak leans down and waves. "Yeah, so, you've got maybe three minutes before the rest of the guys get their shit together and start loading up. You might want to…" He gestures vaguely at them. "I don't know, put those faces away."

"Ugh," Mitch says, but he nods. "Thanks, man."

Dylan takes a deep breath; he's pretty sure he's going to cry, but maybe he can hold it off until after Mitch leaves. Preferably until he's home, but he's doubtful on that. "Time to go," he says.

"Yeah," Mitch replies. "Gonna need my hand back, babe."

"Nope," Dylan says, shaking his head. "It's mine now. You can't have it."

"Gonna be hard to hold my stick with only one hand," Mitch muses. "Can we time-share it, maybe?"

Dylan laughs. "Fine, whatever, you can have your hand." He squeezes once more before letting go. "Kick ass, eh? Just not as much ass as Erie, obviously."

"They're doomed without you," Mitch says, leaning over the console to grab Dylan and pull him into a hug. Dylan does his best to wrap his arms around Mitch and hold on, but, well, car. He huffs and shoves Mitch back before opening his door and climbing out.

Mitch meets him halfway around the trunk; they crash into each other in a way that feels weird without skates under them, without a goal horn going off. Still, Dylan doesn't hesitate to cling and push his face into Mitch's hair. Mitch wraps one arm around Dylan and wriggles the other one between them, the backs of his fingers resting against Dylan's stomach.

"Forward me your schedule," Dylan mumbles. He shuts his eyes tightly so he doesn't cry into Mitch's hair. That'd be embarrassing on so many levels.

"I will," Mitch promises. "Look, is it weird if I, like, ask Brinksy to fill in for me if I can't make it down for an appointment?"

Dylan starts laughing. "You want to ask _Brinksy_ for a favour? Really?"

Mitch shrugs a little. "I figured you'd be comfortable with him being there, you know? So it'd be less weird than asking some of the guys I know better." He grins. "Or, you know, ones we haven't scarred with our sex life."

"Yeah, okay," Dylan says, smiling. "Go for it. Please record it and share it with me after; the look on his face is going to be epic."

"Will do," Mitch says, snorting. The door of the hotel opens behind them, and Mitch squeezes him once more before pulling away. "Hey. Love you."

"Love you," Dylan echoes. He has to take a deep breath before he can make himself let go. He's pretty sure his face is doing something awful, because Mitch's grin falters a little when he meets Dylan's eyes. He moves forward quickly, reaching up to drag Dylan in for a kiss. His other hand is still against Dylan's stomach, and he bumps his fingers there a few times before pulling away completely.

Mitch's smile is a little watery when he nods and grabs his bag, and Dylan can't help but feel a little grateful that at least it's not just him.

Dylan escapes back to the car with about thirty seconds to spare before the team starts pouring out of the hotel and onto the bus. He slouches down behind the steering wheel, hoping they won't notice him. He's either really lucky or Mitch is diverting their attention, because nobody approaches the car.

Somehow he can't make himself leave until the bus pulls away from the curb, taking Mitch with it. He takes a few deep breaths as the bus pulls out of sight, but just as he's leaning forward to start the car back up, his phone beeps. _go back to bed babe. I left pretzels on the bedstand for when you wake up hungry._

Dylan sighs happily. He's pretty sure he's going to hate pretzels by the end of this, but right now they're his best friends. _would husband again,_ he texts back, and then he starts the car and heads for home.


	8. Chapter 8

Dylan's almost getting used to waking up to his ring tone. Everybody wants to talk to him, now that the news is out, but all he wants to do is sleep. He's pretty sure that second part isn't going to change, so he just has to hope that people stop calling him all the time once the shock wears off. He rolls over and checks the caller ID, his stomach lurching when he sees Ryan's name. 

Dylan knows it's supposed to be a good thing; he knows Ryan's supposed to be calling to apologise, or whatever. He doesn't want to be blindsided, though, if Ryan's changed his mind. Or if he was just saying that to get Dylan to answer the phone.

"Hey," he says, trying to sound like he's not freaking out. If it goes badly, he tells himself, he'll call Mitch. Or Brinksy. Probably if he calls Brinksy crying, he'll be forgiven for the sexting thing. And then Brinksy will drive five hours to New York to punch Ryan in the face.

"Dyls," Ryan says. He sounds worried. "I fucked up. I'm so sorry."

Just like that, Dylan sags to his mattress in relief. "It's fine," Dylan says, but his voice wobbles.

"Fuck. It's _not_ fine, Dyls. I should've looked out for you."

"Ry," Dylan says, trying for a deep breath, but no. Nope, he starts crying. "Mom and Dad hate me."

Ryan sighs. "I'm not going to say it, because I know you don't want to hear it. Let's just not talk about Mom and Dad, okay? How are you doing?"

"Okay," Dylan says, trying to get his composure and mostly failing. "I'm... Mitch left this morning. I need to make a doctor's appointment."

"Okay," Ryan says gently, "but how are _you_?"

"Fucking terrified," Dylan admits. "I never thought Mom and Dad wouldn't be around when I had my first kid." Because he can't just let it go. He's going through one of the biggest things that's ever going to happen to him, and them not being involved is a big part of how he's feeling.

"I know it's not the same, but you've got me and Matt in your corner," Ryan says. "We, uh. Matt flipped out at them after Mitch hung up yesterday, and when Mom tried to get me to talk him down, I might have said something that got me uninvited from Christmas." He pauses. "And then I hung up on her, which probably didn't help my case."

Dylan starts crying harder. He can't help it, and he ends up gulping air through sobs while Ryan tries to talk him down.

"Hey, hey," Ryan says. "I have no idea how to help, okay, so I'm just going to talk about things here in Brooklyn. Maybe get your mind off of... stuff." He starts rambling about the Islanders' penalty kill, and Dylan is reminded of how bad Ryan has always been at dealing with strong emotions that aren't directly tied to hockey. He's touched that Ryan is trying now, and it definitely doesn't do anything to make his tears stop.

"Hang on, let me double check—yes!" Ryan says. "I have two days off the weekend before your birthday, and then we have two home games. You should come see Brooklyn."

"Really?" Dylan asks, voice quavery. "That sounds... that sounds great." Usually his parents come in for his birthday, but Dylan's not going there right now.

Ryan laughs. "Yeah. Oh man, wait 'til you see New York in the spring."

"March is not spring," Dylan says. "March is gross."

Ryan laughs again. "Yeah, the city'll probably still be gross, but we can stay in and play NHL ‘16."

"That sounds like a great plan," Dylan says. "Even if it doesn't sound like seeing New York at all."

"Eh, it's New York," Ryan replies dismissively.

Dylan cracks up. "Okay, now you're starting to sound like a real New Yorker."

"God, no," Ryan says, horror clear in his voice. "Quick, make a joke about Oshawa so I can make one about Scarborough. I need Toronto in my life."

They talk shit about home for a while, and commiserate about the Leafs. "God, I hope they're not still this bad next season," Dylan says.

"That's because your husband will be playing for them next season," Ryan says. "I hope they suck when they play us."

"You take that back!" Dylan demands.

"No," Ryan says darkly. "You'll see, Dyls. You'll see." They chirp back and forth until Dylan's actually managing to laugh. Then Ryan says, "So, you know how I totally didn't have a game on Monday..."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Dylan says. "The wedding was last minute, and I almost forgot to invite _Connor_."

"Jesus," Ryan replies. "That would've been a disaster."

"You have no idea," Dylan says. "He planned our entire wedding on the plane ride down, surprise bachelor party and all."

Ryan's silent for a while, and then he says flatly, "I'm going to have _words_ with him when I play against him at the end of the month."

"It was a Mario Kart and movies day, don't get all bent out of shape," Dylan says. "Most of the people there didn't even know what was going on."

"Yeah, yeah. I can already tell he's the one to talk to if I want to stay in the loop, though," Ryan replies.

"Wait," Dylan says. "Are you seriously saying you're going to get information about the kid I'm having with Mitch from Connor? Connor, the dude who's _not_ the other dad, the guy I _didn't_ marry?"

"Well, yeah," Ryan says.

Dylan laughs until his stomach hurts and Ryan threatens to hang up on him. "I should go anyway, though," Dylan finally manages. "I really do need to make a doctor's appointment."

"You're going to be okay tomorrow, right?" Ryan asks.

"Uh, yeah? I think so; why?"

"Your team's playing in Mississauga," Ryan points out. "Like. Are you travelling with them, or...?"

Dylan feels like all the air's been sucked out of his lungs. With everything that's going on he'd completely forgotten, just taken it for granted that playing in his home town would mean security and family. "I…" he croaks. "I'm travelling with the team. Coach said. I guess no-one's coming to the game, though."

"As if," Ryan scoffs. "You _know_ Matty's gonna be there with the most obnoxious sign he can make. And you should text the McLeods; you know they'll be up for hugs and whatever."

Right. He should definitely get in touch with the McLeods; having his childhood best friends in his corner would definitely make him feel better. "I guess so."

"You guess right. Whatever weird symbiotic thing you have with Connor aside, Matty and I are your brothers. Don't ever forget that," Ryan says firmly.

"Thanks," Dylan says. He feels a lot better for talking to Ryan, honestly. "You, uh. I'm glad you're on our side, Ry."

"Always," Ryan promises. "I just needed Matty to help me get my head out of my ass."

"He's good at that," Dylan says. "I'm gonna call this doctor. I'll text you later."

"Okay. Bye, little Strome."

"Are you talking to me or the baby?" Dylan asks suspiciously. "Because one of those is okay and kind of cute, and the other one is going to get your ass kicked."

Ryan snorts. "I'm practising my uncle skills."

"Acceptable," Dylan says, grinning. "Bye."

He hangs up and lets himself enjoy the moment for a minute. Things are solid with Ryan and Matt, and Mitch's entire family seems pretty on board with the baby. And that's not even taking into account the solid wall of protective hockey pseudo-uncles Dylan's accruing at an alarming rate. He can work with this.

Andy had given him a few phone numbers for local doctors; a few minutes of Google research tells him that they all have five stars, so that doesn't help him pick. He figures he'll just start with the one closest to the house and see what happens from there. Privacy's probably going to be their biggest concern; once the rosters come out for the Leafs' prospect camp, Mitch is going to be under a media spotlight again. Dylan can worry about that when and if he picks a doctor in Toronto, though. For now, he just wants to get an appointment.

The man who answers the phone at the first doctor's office is nice enough. Dylan mentions that he's got a schedule he'll need to work around, and the guy hesitates before saying that they'll do their best, but he doesn't sound very convincing, so Dylan crosses that one off the list and calls the next place.

The next one is a lot better; the receptionist breezily tells him that they deal with professionals from all walks of life so of course they'll work with him on the schedule. It's... kinda nice to be treated like a grown up, not a pain in the ass, for trying to be organised.

The receptionist asks him a few basic questions, how far along he is, if he's seen anybody yet. When he tells her, she hums into the phone. "We actually had a cancellation this afternoon," she says. "I know it's last-minute, and I understand if your schedule doesn't allow for it, but could you come in for some preliminary things today?"

"Actually yeah, I'm free," Dylan says. "I'm not out of town until tomorrow."

"Great," the receptionist says. "Dr. Weber can see you at 2:30. You said you had some bloodwork done already; if you can get copies and bring them along, then we won't have to repeat those tests."

"Sure," Dylan replies. "I'll bring it all with me." He's got the papers Andy gave him on his dresser.

"Great," the receptionist says. "We'll see you at 2:30, Mr. Strome."

Dylan makes a face as he thanks her and hangs up. Mr. Strome, god. Well, that's what he gets for feeling so adult about the whole thing, he guesses.

Speaking of adult things, Dylan has to call his _husband_. He grins as he dials. "Hey," he greets when Mitch picks up. "Today isn't the worst."

He can hear Mitch pouting. "I left, and you still think it's a good day? Divorce."

"Oh, so I'm free to marry Connor?" Dylan asks.

"Over my dead body," Mitch says breezily. "I take it things went well with Ryan?"

"He wants me to come to New York for my birthday," Dylan says. Honestly, he's still a little dazed at the turn-around from _everything sucks_ to _this is actually working_.

"Awesome," Mitch says warmly. "A change of scenery, bro time. It sounds great."

"It'd be better if you could be there, but yeah," Dylan says. "I think it's going to be good." He shifts. "And, hey, speaking of wish you were here, I managed to get a doctor's appointment for this afternoon."

"That's fast," Mitch comments.

"Yeah," Dylan agrees. "It's just the super basic stuff. Apparently I need to have a lot of bloodwork done, but nothing exciting happens for a little while still."

Mitch sighs. "Good; hopefully I can be there for the exciting stuff. You should call Brinksy, though."

Dylan stretches a little. "You're serious about having Brinks as your proxy?"

"100% serious," Mitch says. "You don't have to go through this alone."

"I can handle it—" Dylan starts but Mitch cuts him off.

"What would Connor do, if he was there?"

Dylan sighs. "This is a bad precedent. The 'what would Connor do' game is a losing game, babe."

"Okay, then how about this: what would Connor do if he found out you went in alone to your first appointment?"

"Fine," Dylan grumbles. He's not sure if Connor's epic sadface would be directed at him for doing it on his own, or at the rest of the team for letting him. Both, probably.

Dylan listens to Mitch complain for a while about the epic chirping he was subjected to on the trip back to London, and then his stomach reminds him that it's been too long since he fed the beast. He still has to have lunch, and call Brinksy, and look up directions to the doctor's office.

"The creature demands sustenance," Dylan says. 

Mitch snorts. "Let me know how the appointment went."

" _How_ many times do you want me to call you today?"

"As many as you want," Mitch says softly.

"Good thing we have international calling," Dylan says, trying not to get choked up. "Love you, babe."

"Love you too," Mitch replies. "Love you both."

Dylan hangs up with a smile on his face and heads for the kitchen.

-0-

"This is bizarre," Brinksy says under his breath as they settle into the waiting room. "I mean, man. This is really weird."

"You didn't have to come. Connor totally would've understood," Dylan replies sweetly.

Brinksy snorts. "Believe it or not, Connor's not the one I'm afraid of here."

Dylan just smiles. His husband is the _best_.

"That!" Brinksy says, pointing at Dylan's face. "That's the weirdest part of all. It's like you and Marns have mind-melded or something. I thought you were bad before, but now it's ridiculous."

"Not yet," Dylan says. "First anniversary."

Brinksy's eyes widen. "By which time you'll have a _baby human_."

Dylan snorts. "I hope so. Who knows what the hockey gods have in store, though? Maybe it's an otter."

"An otter _knight_ ," Brinksy says thoughtfully. "With, like. A helmet."

Dylan has the sinking feeling he's just created a monster, but he doesn't have time to defuse the situation, because the nurse is calling his name. She leads him into the back and takes his height and weight before directing him to an exam room. She points Brinksy to a chair and takes Dylan's blood pressure and temperature, then smiles. "Dr. Weber will be in shortly," she says, and with that, she's gone.

Brinksy looks around the exam room, which is papered with a bunch of posters about babies and pregnancy. His eyes are super wide, and it'd be hilarious if Dylan's weren't the same way. He stares for a really long time at one that shows how the baby will develop over the next eight months. It's kind of mind-blowing.

"Whoa," Brinksy says. "That's kind of cool? I mean, I stand by 'holy shit, what the fuck,' but... kind of cool."

"I'm glad you think so," the doctor says as he comes in.

Dylan blinks, then blinks again. Dr. Weber is pretty much a giant, and he looks familiar for some reason that Dylan can't put his finger on. "Uh, hi," he says, sticking his hand out. "Dylan Strome."

His hand disappears in Dr. Weber's giant mitt. "Good to meet you, Dylan. And is this the other father?" he asks, gesturing at Brinksy.

" _Christ,_ no," Brinksy blurts out, and then he goes really red.

"This is my friend Alex DeBrincat," Dylan says, snickering. "My, uh. My husband's out of town, so Brinks is here with me."

The doctor smiles, and makes a note on Dylan's file. "And how is your relationship? Is he supportive?"

"You don't even know," Brinksy moans. "They're totally fine, Doc. Trust the peanut gallery."

Dylan elbows him. "We've been together two years, so we're pretty stable. We both travel a lot, though, so I talked to the office about schedules."

"Good to know," Dr. Weber says, nodding. "And I'm glad you're building a support network, since your husband can't always be around. The next few months aren't going to be a walk in the park."

"I kind of figured that," Dylan admits. "Mitch will be here for as many of these as he can, but yeah, I've got a good group of guys to help me out when he's away."

"Anything else I should know before we get started?" Weber asks.

"Well. I'm an athlete? I play hockey."

"High metabolism, then." Weber makes another note. "We'll keep a close eye on your weight and your caloric intake."

"The team trainer said I can still skate," Dylan blurts out. "Is that—can I—?"

Weber smiles. "I don't see any reason why not, as long as you don't attempt any twisting or jumping movements. Just don't push yourself too hard, and listen to your body. It should be fine."

Thank fuck. Dylan breathes out slowly. "Good. That's—good."

"You said you play hockey," Weber says. "Were you on an active roster when you found out you were pregnant?"

Dylan grimaces. "Yeah, I—it's only been a week since I found out, and with our schedules I'm probably coming up to six weeks."

"Any bruising or tenderness in your abdomen?"

"No," Dylan says. "The only thing I've noticed is that I've been really tired. And I have a thing for pretzels like you wouldn't believe."

Brinksy nods along frantically. "There are two bags in the car and I have one in my pocket."

Dr. Weber snorts. "I'd believe it," he says dryly. "Pretzels are one of the least strange things I've heard people crave."

The doctor keeps running through his checklist, and then he gets Dylan to hop up on the exam table, lift his shirt, and unbutton his pants. Brinsky turns bright red, but he doesn't leave.

"Let me know if anything hurts," Weber says as he presses on Dylan's stomach and then lower, just above his pelvis. It pretty much just feels like Weber is poking at him; nothing hurts at all. It's not even uncomfortable, just a little weird.

"It feels fine," he reports.

Weber smiles at him. "Okay, good." He lets Dylan sit up and put himself back together, and then he says, "Everything looks fine so far. If you have any tenderness, though, don't hesitate to call. Male pregnancies are a higher risk for internal bleeding, so if you're too uncomfortable I'll send you for an ultrasound."

Dylan nods, feeling a little sick, and Weber claps him on the shoulder.

"Better to get everything checked out and make sure you stay safe," he says warmly.

Dylan's legs are a little shaky when he gets off the table. Brinksy jumps up out of his seat and takes Dylan's arm, and when he's sitting down again Brinksy thrusts the bag of pretzels at him.

Weber smiles at them. He sure does seem to be a happy dude for someone who's kind of freaking Dylan out. "I see you brought copies of your recent bloodwork with you. That's great, but we're still going to have to run some tests."

Dylan just nods and eats his pretzels.

"It's nothing to worry about," Weber assures him. "We just need to check whether you have any dietary deficiencies, and what antibodies you have."

"Chicken pox is bad if you're pregnant, right?" Brinksy blurts out next to him.

Dylan punches him in the arm. "I had it when I was, like, six," he says. "Matt brought it home with him. We all had it, and then Ryan passed it on to his entire team."

Weber wraps up the appointment pretty soon after that, without any more _helpful_ outbursts from Brinksy. Dylan braces himself to give yet more blood and another urine sample, and promises to call back with Mitch's schedule so they can book an ultrasound date.

Weber shakes his hand on his way out of the exam room. "So far, so good," he says cheerily. "I'll see you in a few weeks, Dylan. Nice to meet you, Alex."

Brinksy waits until the door closes behind them and then he hisses, "Dr. Shea Weber."

"Oh my god," Dylan says, blinking a few times. Then he cracks up. Now that Brinksy's said it, Dylan will never be able to un-see it.

"His first name is _Steven_ ," Brinksy stresses. "I Googled him while he was poking your stomach. _Steven Weber._."

"Maybe the S names are a family thing," Dylan says when he can breathe again. 

"Oh my god," Brinksy repeats. "This is amazing, Dyls."

Dylan grins at him. " _Now_ are you glad you came with me?"

"Buy me dinner after you get your blood drawn and I'll be glad," Brinksy says, and yeah, Dylan can do that.

-0-

Dylan isn't sure what to expect when he gets off the bus in Mississauga. He's got a weird ball of nerves in his stomach, but at the same time this is home; it's not a great combination, especially after spending the last three hours trying not to puke at the smell of the bathroom on the bus. Coach takes one look at him and tells him to go sit in the quiet room. It's good, mostly because it doesn't smell like anything more exciting than Icy Hot.

Dylan's finally feeling like a human again when there's a knock on the door. Before he can get a word out, the door flies open, and Matt is throwing his arms around Dylan and laughing. "Dude!"

"Hi, _dude_ ," Dylan says dryly. "You're crushing me."

Matt leaps back like Dylan lost his battle against his nausea and puked all over him. "Oh my god! I'm sorry, are you okay?"

Dylan takes one look at his face and cracks up laughing. "I'm fine. You just forgot this isn't a celly and I'm not wearing pads."

"Fuck off," Matt mumbles, but he's grinning. "Consider that your 'congrats on the wedding' and 'congrats on the kid' hug all at once." Suddenly, he narrows his eyes at Dylan. "Speaking of which. You know I didn't have a game Monday, right? Like, you are aware that I could've been at your wedding?"

Dylan grimaces. "Yeah, Ryan said the same thing. I have baby brain, okay? I almost forgot to invite Connor." And if he'd invited both his brothers it would've been weird for their parents not to be there.

"Fine," Matt says, sighing dramatically. Dylan has to hide a smile. Matt shifts on his feet. "Uh, speaking of inviting family to things..."

Dylan braces himself. "They're not here, are they?"

"I'm really sorry," Matt says. "I tried, but Dad's being a jerk."

"I kind of figured," Dylan says. He tries to swallow but it takes a few tries. "Thanks for coming, Matty." It's not the same and they both know it, but it would be a lot worse if Dylan was here on his own.

"Are you okay?" Matty asks. "Is it weird—you know." He waves vaguely in the general vicinity of Dylan's stomach.

"Not yet," Dylan says. "I'm hungry, like, all the time. And the bus bathroom smelled even worse than usual today. Other than that, it's all still really normal."

Matt stares at him. "That's _insane_. You're having a _baby_."

Dylan cracks up again. "I know, Matty. I'm even having an ultrasound in a couple of weeks."

"Wow, really?" Matt's face breaks into a huge grin. "Are you gonna see if it's a boy or a girl? Can I get a copy of it too?"

"They're making me wait two weeks because it's too small right now to see much of anything," Dylan says, "and you think it'd have a visible dick?" He's pretty sure, from what he read, that that hasn't even happened yet. It won't form whatever parts it's going to have for a while.

"I don't know," Matt says, but he sounds pretty thrilled anyway. "I have no idea how this shit works, Dyls. For all I know, it's going to have a tail until it comes out."

"An otter tail," Dylan says gleefully, just to see Matt's reaction.

"Maybe a horse tail," Matt shoots back. "Because, like. Knights... ride horses?"

Dylan snickers. "Brinksy wants it to come out with a helmet on."

"Oh my god, wait," Matt says, face lighting up with unholy glee. "You have to get me the ultrasound thing first. I know a dude who can Photoshop it before you show him."

"If you think there's any chance he won't attack me for it the second I get it in my hands, you're insane," Dylan says dryly.

"I can take him," Matt says confidently, and... well, yeah, Dylan thinks. Matt's as big as Dylan is, and Brinksy is Brinksy. "Whatever, man. Let's go get seats."

Matt stops dead in his tracks when they're halfway there, and Dylan runs into him.

"Matt, what the fuck," Dylan complains.

"I'd say something about your language, but I'm guessing that wouldn't be welcome right now," someone says, and when Matt shifts to the side, Dylan sees his mom standing there.

"Mom." Dylan's voice comes out croaky.

"Dylan," she says, and her voice sounds kinda wavery. "Oh, honey."

Dylan tries to step around Matt and go to her, but Matt grabs his wrist. "Yeah," he says, in response to apparently nothing. "Good to see you, Mom. Except an hour ago you weren't coming, so..."

"I'm sorry," Mom says. "I should've—I just want what's best for you, Dylan."

"And I don't know what's best for _myself_?" Dylan asks, taking a step behind Matt.

"You're so young," she starts, and Dylan shakes his head.

"No," he says, glad that his voice is steadier than his heartbeat at the moment. "Mom. You don't have to like it, and I hate that, but I get it. You don't get to tell me how to run my life, though."

"I didn't come here to be lectured," his mom says tightly.

"Funny," Dylan snaps. "Neither did I."

"Okay, we should go get snacks," Matt says loudly. He turns and slings his arm around Dylan's shoulders. He tosses a look back over his shoulder, and Dylan wishes he could see Matt's expression. "Mom, you grab us seats. We'll get you some nachos." He drags Dylan away before their mom can say anything else.

"If you want to sit somewhere else, do it," Matt says once they walk out of earshot. "Sit on the bench or something. Make them put a chair in the tunnel for you. Somewhere she can't go."

Dylan scowls. "I'm not running from her. This is my team, and if she has a problem _she_ can go."

"She's not going to," Matt says flatly. "I get it, Dyls, I do. But her being here means she probably yelled at Dad, so she's not gonna leave before the game's over."

"Great, she yelled at him and now she thinks she has the high ground to yell at me. It's bullshit, Matt!" Dylan snaps.

"I'm on Team Dylan here," Matt says. "So if you could maybe not bite my head off, that'd be great."

Dylan shakes him off and stalks back towards the locker room. Fuck it; he's not the one being unreasonable here. Maybe he can sit with Coach.

"Dyls," Matt calls after him. "You're not wrong, okay? I get it; it's bullshit. I agree with you, which is why I'm telling you that if you don't want to sit with her, I'll run interference."

"Don't bother," Dylan calls back. He's getting past the point where he can be civil, and Matt doesn't deserve to be in the middle of that. Come to think of it, neither do the McLeods; Dylan pulls his phone out and texts to cancel their plans. He'll talk to them later.

Coach takes one look at him and shakes his head. "Go sit in your stall," he says. "Deep breaths, Strome. Let someone know if you need Andy."

"I'm fine," Dylan assures him. "Just pissed off. Figured it was better for the team if I didn't lose my cool out there."

"Even so," Coach says. "Sit. Breathe. Yell for Andy if you need him." Coach claps him on the shoulder, and when Dylan turns around, Taylor is holding out a bag of pretzels with a wary look on his face.

Dylan takes them gratefully. "I'm fine," he repeats to Taylor when the wary look stays put. "My mom's out there. Didn't think she'd bother to show up."

"Oh." Taylor shuffles his feet and tries to jam his hand in a non-existent pocket. With his glove on.

Dylan forces a smile. "Kick some ass out there."

"It's the Steelheads," Taylor says disdainfully. "If we don't kick their asses, you can sit your pukey ass next to me all the way home."

"I will take you up on that," Dylan warns.

Taylor just grins. "We'd better win, then."

-0-

Dylan sleeps through most of the trip back, thank god, and stumbles into bed as soon as he gets home. Saturday's full of busy work, getting ready for the road trip on Monday. He doesn't tell Mitch about talking to his mom because there's no point; Mitch can't do anything about it, and it'll only make him feel guilty.

He makes a bunch of notes when he watches the home game against Kitchener; Coach seems a little surprised when Dylan brings up the weakness in their penalty kill, but Dylan's sure that if they make a few changes it'll help a lot. If this is the only way he can contribute now, he's damn well going to do his best.

He's totally exhausted by the time he crawls into bed after the game. Coach asked him to come in for a meeting in the afternoon, but not to bother with the morning practice, and Dylan's grateful for all the sleep he's about to get.

In the morning Dylan only surfaces long enough to shovel down some breakfast before going back to bed. He's feeling pretty fucking great by the time his alarm goes off, reminding him to get some lunch. That and a shower makes him feel like an actual human again, which is nice. He fumbles when he ties his shoes, though, so okay. Maybe he's a little nervous about the big meeting with Coach.

"Dylan?" Mrs. Murphy calls as he makes his way downstairs. "Are you heading to the rink?"

"Yeah, Coach wants to see me," Dylan calls back. "I'll be home for dinner, though."

"Okay," she replies. "Have a good afternoon."

"I'll try," Dylan mutters, and then he heads out.

When he pulls into the parking lot at the rink he needs a minute to pull himself together. He turns off the engine and rests his head on the steering wheel, taking a series of deep breaths. If this is it, Mom and Dad probably won't take him in. Mitch's parents would, though, he's pretty sure. And maybe Ryan.

"Dylan," Andy says when Dylan finally makes himself walk in. Andy stops short and frowns at him. "Looking a little pale there, bud Do you need to some water?"

Dylan shakes his head. "I have a meeting with Coach. Don't want to be late."

"It's not a bad meeting," Andy says firmly. "Did he honestly not tell you what it was about beforehand?" When Dylan shakes his head, Andy mutters something under his breath. "Dylan. He wants to talk to you about _staying_."

Dylan blinks at him. "I thought we already talked about that? I figured, after the road trip..." That Coach wouldn't want the hassle of bringing him along.

Andy sighs and shakes his head. "Come on, let's go," he says, leading the way into the arena. "You have a meeting, and I have a short lecture on not giving pregnant people heart attacks to deliver."

Coach takes one look at Andy's stormy face and grimaces.

"Elevated stress levels aren't good for him right now," Andy says, pointing at Coach. "If you need to talk to Dylan, give him some context so he doesn't spend the entire morning puking from nerves."

"I didn't puke," Dylan says feebly. He's definitely not feeling as relaxed as he had after all his sleep, though.

"Sorry," Coach mumbles. It's kind of hilarious seeing such a big guy brought down by _Andy_.

Andy sighs, and Dylan's reminded of his grade three teacher when she was really disappointed in his math effort. "Don't do it again," he says, and Dylan has to suppress a giggle. "Do I need to sit in on this meeting?"

"No," Dylan and Coach say in tandem, and wow, it's getting really hard to hold in the laughter.

Andy gives Coach one last suspicious look and then nods. "You know where to find me if you need me," he says to Dylan, and then he heads out.

"Sorry I was such a mess on the road," Dylan says when the door closes behind Andy.

"What?" Coach frowns. "Son, that bathroom makes me feel sick half the time. Don't worry about it."

Dylan takes a seat, trying and failing to get comfortable. After the crazy week he's had, he's not taking anybody's reaction for granted.

"We've put you on LTIR," Coach says. "You're officially listed as having a lower body injury, and that's what we'll tell anyone who asks. Nobody's getting anything out of us."

Dylan nods, relieved. "Okay, that's—thank you."

"We want to keep you around as much as you're comfortable being here," Coach continues. "For one, you're still the captain. Having you around in the locker room is a big thing for the boys. And on top of that..." Coach taps a paper on his desk, and Dylan realises it's the notes he'd made during the game yesterday. "We worked on some of this during today's practice. You've got a unique perspective, and we'd like to work with that."

"You... want me behind the bench?" Dylan says slowly. 

"Yes," Coach says. "It's unconventional, I know, but I think it could work out."

"Brinksy took stupid penalties at World Juniors," Dylan blurts out before he can stop himself. "And a lot of guys are more than willing to take advantage of a short fuse."

"You're telling me," Coach says dryly. "You have any ideas about how to get him to calm down out there?"

"Put me on the ice in goalie pads," Dylan says, grinning. "I know every way there is to piss him off."

Coach frowns. "If Andy clears it," he says grudgingly.

"At the very least I can help him build a thicker skin," Dylan points out. "And it'll piss him off twice as much that I'm no-contact."

"I see where you're coming from," Coach says. "Get Andy to sign off on it and we'll set it up. I'm not pissing him off again for at least a week."

Dylan snorts. "Good call."

Coach nods. "We still want you to travel with us," he says. "If you think the bus is going to make you sick every time, we'll figure something else out, but we do want you at away games."

They talk for a while about how to make things work. Coach looks impressed when Dylan mentions that he made sure to juggle both his and Mitch's schedules for the next baby appointment. They wrap things up when Andy sticks his head in, and Dylan's surprised to find that it's been well over an hour. "I'm just checking in," Andy says. "Everything okay in here?"

"I'm driving myself to the next away game," Dylan says cheerily. "So don't worry about packing extra vomit bags."

"Take a buddy," Andy says immediately. "I'll give him the vomit bags, just in case."

"Is driving up with me the punishment or the reward?" Dylan asks thoughtfully.

Coach snorts. "We'll decide that when we get back from Guelph."

Dylan shrugs. "Brinksy's been tagging along on pretty much everything else." He turns back around to face Coach. "If it's okay with you I'll ask him to drive with me."

"Works for me," Coach says. "Andy, would you clear Dylan for no-contact antagonism?"

Andy blinks. "What the hell is that?"

"I strap on goalie pads under my no-contact jersey and try to annoy Brinksy into taking a stupid penalty," Dylan explains. The more he talks about it the more he likes it.

Andy shakes his head slowly, but he grins. "As long as someone else is out on the ice with you, sure," he says. "And no speed skating."

Dylan grins back at him. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He goes home in a much better mood than he left the house in. There's still some time before dinner, so he waves to Mrs. Murphy and heads upstairs to check in with Mitch. Then he stops dead in his doorway, because somebody left a present on his bed.

Dylan considers calling down the stairs, but Mrs. Murphy didn't tell him anything about this. Which means it's probably supposed to be a surprise. When he gets closer, he can see the handwriting on the card tucked beneath the present. It's Mitch's handwriting, and Dylan swallows hard before sitting next to it and pulling out his phone.

"Hi," Mitch says happily when he answers the FaceTime call. "How's your day going?"

"You're ridiculous," Dylan replies. "Why does this have a New York postmark?"

Mitch shifts and the camera wobbles a little. "Well, I had to get it there by yesterday, since there's no mail today. And I couldn't overnight it from Canada, so I had to drive into Niagara."

"But why?" Dylan says. "What was so important?"

Mitch laughs. "Duh. Valentine's Day."

"Oh my god," Dylan says, groaning as he flops back onto his bed. He's doing he best not to smile at his phone, but he's not doing a great job. "Are you serious right now?"

"Just open it before I decide to drive down there and take it back," Mitch replies. He's starting to sound embarrassed, so this is going to be _good_

"Fine," Dylan says. He grabs the card and picks it up.

"No, wait," Mitch says hastily. "Open the thing first."

Dylan rolls his eyes and puts down the card.

"Sorry," Mitch blurts out. "It isn't really for you, I guess."

"Did you get me something for _you_?" Dylan teases.

"No," Mitch mumbles, and—shit. It's for the baby, and Dylan's going to cry.

He rips open the paper and a pair of white knitted booties falls out. "Mitch," he chokes out.

"Turn them over," Mitch says, voice soft. "They're like—look."

Dylan picks them up and turns them over. There's a line of grey, with a dark outline on one edge.

" _Now_ you can read the card."

The card is, predictably, hockey-themed; it's a black-and-white photo of a pair of skates and a puck on a frozen lake. When Dylan opens it up, there's just a single line of text: _You're never too small for your first pair of skates._

"How—where the hell did you find these?" Dylan's right on the edge of losing it, so he focuses on the details. The booties are so _soft_.

"Juo's billet mom knits," Mitch says. "I remembered her saying last year that she always has a few pairs of baby booties made up, just in case, so I called and asked if she'd sew little skates on the bottom of one so I could mail them to someone."

Dylan just keeps petting them. He doesn't trust himself to talk anymore.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Mitch says softly. "I hope I didn't screw up."

All Dylan can do is shake his head furiously. He knows he's leaking tears, but it's going to be so much worse if he tries to say anything, so he just clutches the booties to his chest and take a deep, ragged breath.

"Shit, I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Everything makes me cry," Dylan chokes out. "Or it pisses me off. This is... god, _Mitch_."

Mitch sighs. "Uh. I'm sorry?"

"No, it's great."

"Really?" Mitch says, perking up. "I mean, I thought... they should actually fit, you know? When the baby's born. And, like, it's our kid, of course they're getting skates."

Dylan laughs. "We've only known for just over a week and you're already planning the baby's first skate."

"Uh, yeah," Mitch says, visibly relaxing now that Dylan's gotten the crying thing a little more under control. "You aren't?"

"Well. Yeah, I guess," Dylan admits. "I'll be back in shape by then, for sure."

"Know what I found out?" Mitch asks, grinning. "They sell little tiny baby Leafs jerseys. And Coyotes ones."

"Hold out for the baby shower. We'll probably get a million of 'em," Dylan says.

Mitch snorts. "Are you kidding me? Everyone's gonna give us one of their _own_ at the baby shower."

"You really think your family isn't going to get a custom Marner jersey?"

"Duh," Mitch says dismissively. "Money on your brothers fighting over who gets to give us the Strome 'Yotes one."

"I'm not taking that bet," Dylan laughs.

They debate who might give them what ridiculous things for the baby shower until Dylan hears Mrs. Murphy call up for dinner.

"Thanks for driving four hours to mail me a present that's not even for me," Dylan says. "Love you."

"Ugh, I'll send you a real present the next time I have a day off," Mitch promises. "Love you."

Dylan hangs up smiling. Amazingly, he's in an even better mood now than he had been after all the sleep he got last night. Today's been good.

-0-

The road trip to Guelph and back is way less horrendous than the trip to Mississauga had been. Dylan underestimated how awesome it'd be to stop whenever he wanted and use a real truck stop bathroom instead of a glorified plastic bucket in a cubicle. The game is kind of a shitshow even though they win 6-1; Dylan noticed some of the guys doing really lazy shit when they realised Guelph wasn't coming back, and that's just not acceptable. Dylan's got some notes to share with Coach, but they'll wait until tomorrow.

Brinksy drove on the way back because Dylan was wiped. And now... he's still fucking wiped. It's not even that late, but fuck it. Dylan trudges into the house, waves at the Murphys without really saying anything, and heads up to his bed. He pushes open the door and stops dead, because there's a Goldilocks situation going on in his room.

Dylan pulls his phone out and Googles quickly before going over to sit hard on the edge of the bed and leaning over to deliver a hard poke. "Ryan. What the fuck?"

Ryan flails awake, almost hitting Dylan in the nose. "Buh?"

Thankfully, Dylan's woken Ryan up more than once before, so he knows to duck out of the way. He just stares as Ryan blinks at him.

"Uh. Hi," Ryan says, blinking at him sleepily. "You're home."

"You're not," Dylan says. "Unless Brinksy got us really fucking lost."

Ryan yawns and stretches before he says anything else. "I had a couple days off, and Matt told me about Mississauga."

Dylan winces. "Um."

Ryan drags him into a hug. "You could've called me, Dyls."

"I thought about it," Dylan says, sinking into the hug. "I just... I know you're already in the middle of this, and that sucks. I don't want to drag you more in."

"I'm all the way in. You're my baby brother." Ryan rubs a hand down Dylan's back and says, "Besides, now I get to congratulate you in person."

"Thanks," Dylan mumbles. He sighs and closes his eyes. "I should call Matt. I was kind of a dick, and he was just trying to help."

Ryan snorts. "He gets it. I told him Mom was the same when she was pregnant with him."

"Really?" Dylan says, smiling against Ryan's shoulder.

"I got in trouble for the tiniest things, every day. I think I spent like four hours in time out, once."

"Yikes," Dylan says. "I hope I don't get that bad, but half the time I don't notice I'm being weird until it's way too late to be normal."

Ryan pats him on the back and pulls away. "Just remember you're growing an entire human, so people should cut you some slack."

"They mostly are," Dylan says, shrugging. "The fallout from acting like I'm trying for some sort of Dick of the Year award is that afterwards I feel like crying about it, though."

Ryan grins. "Then maybe you should just accept the award and get over it." The look on his face _absolutely_ promises that their family has just spontaneously gained a new tradition. If Dylan doesn't get a shiny trophy in the mail within a month, he'll be shocked.

"So, uh," Dylan says. Maybe if he changes the topic quickly enough Ryan won't actually pay someone to bedazzle a dildo for them. "Did you actually have off, or did you do something stupid to get to come?"

Ryan puts on his most innocent face. "My brother has a season-ending injury, Dyls. In his last year of juniors."

"You guilt-tripped the Islanders," Dylan says flatly.

"No; I 'accidentally' let it slip to Tavares and _he_ guilt tripped the Islanders," Ryan says. "I had to come say hi to the speck that's changing everything."

"The _speck_?" Dylan scrunches up his face. "How did you come up with that one?"

"A person's a person, no matter how small," Ryan singsongs.

Dylan blinks. It's been forever since he watched _Horton Hears A Who_ but apparently it's etched into his memory. "And it'll probably be loud, too."

Ryan pats his belly. "That's our speck."

"Hockey speck," Dylan says faintly, thinking of Connor and Mitch, Brinksy and the Raddyshes, Ryan and Matt.

"Hockey speck," Ryan repeats gleefully. "It's gonna come out wearing skates and a helmet."

"That's what Brinksy said," Dylan agrees. "And, um. Actually it already has its first pair of skates."

"You didn't," Ryan starts. Dylan shakes his head and reaches for the wrapping paper on his bedstand.

"Mitch did, though," he replies, bringing the tiny booties into view.

Ryan reaches out to touch them but he freezes just short, like he's afraid of breaking the _knitwear_. Dylan can only imagine what he'll be like with an actual baby.

"Oh my god," Ryan says, sounding half-awed and half-horrified. "That's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen. I want to cry."

Dylan turns them over so he can see the little skate blades stitched carefully onto the bottom. "Go ahead and touch them, Uncle Fraidycat."

"Oh my god," Ryan repeats, tracing the little blades with his fingertip. "Also, no, Uncle Fraidycat will be Matty, who spammed my email with, like, a hundred pregnancy websites and increasingly horrified Snapchat faces."

Dylan grins with fiendish glee. "Tell me he didn't turn off safe search and look up hemorrhoids."

"I might have sent him a few links back," Ryan says. "Just so he's fully informed."

"Okay, clearly you're Uncle Evil," Dylan says. "Matty's Uncle Fraidycat, Connor's Uncle Organised, and Brinksy can be Uncle Scary."

Ryan snorts. "DeBrincat?"

Dylan pulls out his phone. He took a photo of Brinksy the day he told the team he was pregnant. Brinksy's in full scowl mode, arms crossed over his chest, looking like he's two seconds away from grabbing a skate blade and launching himself across the room.

"Jesus, that's terrifying," Ryan says when he gets a look at it.

"He's very proud of himself," Dylan says dryly. 

Ryan does a full-body shudder. "I'm gonna go ahead and change the subject, so I don't have nightmares about bleeding out on the ice. Uncle Organised has his first game back tomorrow, right?"

"He does," Dylan confirms. Connor's ecstatic; he's been incredibly busy since the All-Star break, skating and conditioning and making sure he's as ready as he can be. The Oilers aren't making the playoffs, McJesus back on the ice or not, but Connor's determined to drag them as far up the standings as he can.

"Awesome," Ryan says. "So we can sleep now, and then tomorrow we have bro time and watch the Oilers annihilate the Ducks."

Dylan grins. "The Oilers have a home game, so it'll be duck a l'orange."

Ryan groans at the pun and facewashes him. "Go to bed. You need your beauty sleep."

"Are you implying that I'm ugly?" Dylan says, sticking out his lower lip in a ridiculous pout.

"I'm _saying_ you're ugly, and you'd better hope speck gets my looks," Ryan deadpans.

"Let's not lie to ourselves: Mitch is the pretty one," Dylan says, getting up so he can grab pajamas. Sleep sounds awesome, honestly, and if Ryan's here then Dylan can have a nice warm body pillow again.

"Whatever," Ryan huffs, but he flops back onto the bed and wriggles under the covers, so Dylan's pretty sure he's not actually complaining.


	9. Chapter 9

Connor's first game back goes amazingly well. He gets his hat trick; Kesler doesn't break any sticks, but Dylan will take what he can get, and a hat trick for his kid isn't nothing. They don't really do anything else of note while Ryan's in town, but Dylan's glad he made the trip out. He's less glad that Ryan passes the "speck" nickname to the rest of the Otters, but it could honestly be a lot worse.

Taylor calls car privileges with Dylan for their roadie to Flint and Saginaw, but by the time they're getting ready to head back to Erie it's Brinksy in the passenger's seat. He just smiles smugly when Dylan asks what happened to Taylor driving with him, and honestly, Dylan just doesn't want to know.

Dylan might be a little in love with the homestand they have after that; he's always slept better in his own bed than on the road, but it's a thousand times worse now. It's also a big bonus to be able to go to all of his meetings wearing sweats and a hoodie, instead of having to look presentable at all times. Coach keeps asking for his input, and Dylan sits in on a lot of the coaching meetings; it's interesting, seeing things from the other side, and Coach was right about Dylan being able to bring a different perspective. The team benefits, and it shows in the standings: they clinched a playoff spot in Dylan's last game against London, but barring some sort of catastrophe, they're going to run away with the Hamilton Spectator. Dylan feels good about their chances; it doesn't look like anyone's going to catch their point totals. He keeps skating, too; Andy talks to Dr. Weber's office and comes up with a pregnancy-safe workout routine, which is awesome. It's all going pretty well.

But by far the best thing about the end of the month is that the OHL has a short break. By the time Dylan gets back from the Niagara game, Mitch is in his living room, talking to the Murphys. Mitch stands up as soon as he sees him, and before Dylan can react he's swept into a hug.

"Hi," Dylan says quietly, ducking his head to press his face into Mitch's hair. Mitch just holds on tight, and Dylan abruptly realizes which one of them has more support through this whole thing. They've been Skyping pretty much every day, so much so that the Knights have starting chirping them about being co-dependent, but Dylan _knows_ how much Mitch hates being left out of things. Not being here for Dylan and the baby must be killing him.

"You okay?" Mitch mumbles against Dylan's chest.

"Yeah. We, uh," Dylan says, not moving away. "If you want to just go upstairs and hang out, we don't have to watch the game." Ryan is playing Connor tonight; Dylan can always just watch the replay on GameCenter.

Mitch snorts. "Are you kidding me? It's been forever since we watched one of Connor's games together."

Dylan's about to say that it's fine, Connor will understand, when his stomach rumbles loudly.

"Pretzel time," Mitch guesses, laughing a little.

"Actual food time," Dylan corrects. "I do car rides better if I don't stuff myself before we go, so by now I'm hungry again."

Mitch frowns. "Sorry. I should've thought of that."

"Babe," Dylan says fondly. "Make me a sandwich now and we'll call it even." Mitch pulls back and bounces on his toes, apparently thrilled to have something to do.

Mrs. Murphy laughs, and Dylan abruptly remembers that, yeah, they're standing in the living room. "There are cooked chicken breasts in the fridge," she says. "Dylan, you know where everything is. Enjoy."

"Not too much, I promise." Dylan takes Mitch's hand and drags him towards the kitchen.

Mitch's face turns bright red, and when they're alone he hisses, "Did you just make a sex joke to your billet parents?"

"Mitch," Dylan says, "we're having a baby. I think the secret's out."

"Oh my god," Mitch groans, but he squeezes Dylan's hand before letting go. "Okay. What's going on your sandwich?"

" _Everything_ ," Dylan says, his mouth already watering.

Mitch snorts, but he dutifully follows Dylan's instructions when he names various things he wants on his sandwich. It's a sloppy mess by the time Mitch is done with it, but Dylan cannot wait to inhale it.

He makes grabby hands as soon as Mitch is done, and takes a huge bite. "Oh m' god, y'r th' besss."

"Say it, don't spray it," Mitch teases, but he looks pleased with himself for achieving sandwich adequacy. Dylan gives him a mustard-y kiss on the cheek.

He finishes eating his sandwich before Mitch is done making his own, so he snags them each a bottle of water from the fridge. He'll get the hiccups like crazy if he doesn't drink enough.

Mitch gives him a sly look as they head back into the living room. "So, who are you rooting for? Evil Uncle or Organized Uncle?"

"I'm rooting for no injuries," Dylan says. It might be the boring answer, but he's not sure how he'll ever stop crying if Ryan or Connor gets hurt tonight. He's a little worried about, like, slashing penalties, if he's being honest with himself.

"Hail, hockey gods, full of malice..." Mitch begins.

Dylan snorts, but he makes the sign for a cross-checking penalty and continues. "Our health is with thee."

"Blessed art thou who spin our pucks, and blessed is the fruit of thy power, Gretzky."

"I feel weird bringing Gretzky into it when it's the Oilers," Dylan says, frowning a little and taking a sip of his water. "Is that hockey sacrilege?"

"It's hockey respect," Mitch says. "They defied the hockey gods by trading him and look what happened."

Dylan hesitates for a second, but he scowls and does the cross-check thing again. There's no use tempting fate.

Mitch pulls him into a sideways hug. "Don't worry; Connor's the second coming of Hockey Jesus. I'm sure they'll be forgiving sometime soon."

"He _is_ in the Promised Land," Dylan agrees. "Finish your sandwich. I want to put on my comfy pants before the game starts." He heads upstairs before Mitch can respond, which is pretty much a tactical retreat. Dylan's belly button has started itching like crazy, and it's hard to take having anything pressed tight against it, but he tries to hide some of the annoying parts of pregnancy from Mitch. He doesn't want him to feel any more guilt.

Dylan considers which hoodie to wear; he's got an Oilers one with Connor's name and number on it, and more Islanders ones than he'll ever wear. He pulls on one of Ryan's and grabs the Oilers one for Mitch. They can both represent; that's fair.

When he gets back downstairs Mitch takes one look at him and says, "No."

"No what?" Dylan replies, frowning.

Mitch blushes, again. "It's my turn to represent Team Strome."

Mr. Murphy starts coughing, but it's not a very good cover for his laughter. Dylan doesn't look in his direction as he shucks the hoodie and tosses it to Mitch before pulling on the Oilers one.

"Selfie time," Dylan says so he doesn't have to look at anyone. He's pretty sure Mrs. Murphy is laughing too.

Mitch pulls on the Isles hoodie and turns around so the Strome name is visible. Dylan rolls his eyes and takes the picture, uploading it to Instagram with _Ready to represent our boys_ as the caption. He tags Connor and Ryan for good measure.

In hindsight Dylan should've known that the pic would go viral within an hour. He's peripherally aware that certain fans think he and Mitch are _so married omg,_ but he'd tried not to pay attention. Except now they're kind of right.

It's a little hilarious, actually, as long as Dylan doesn't read the comments, so he puts his phone on silent and concentrates on the game. It's always fun to watch Connor play, and Dylan always gets a little nostalgic watching the way Ryan skates. It's a good game, and apparently the hockey gods were in a good mood, because there are no injuries at all.

When they head up to bed Dylan shows Mitch #marnstrome and they both get a little giggly. It's late, and they both came from games in the last twenty-four hours. Also, #somarried is funny because it's true.

Mitch grabs Dylan's hand and lifts it so he can kiss his ring. "How long before you think we can Instagram these?"

Dylan hums. "I should probably tell the Coyotes first. About, y'know. Stuff."

"Speck," Mitch corrects. "Don't call our kid 'stuff'."

Dylan shoves him towards the bed. "That is so not our baby's nickname." Mitch gets a goofy look on his face. "What?"

"We get to see our baby tomorrow," Mitch says, his face somehow, impossibly, getting even sappier.

Dylan yawns. "I'm just really glad the appointment isn't until late. You're going to need some time to prepare for Dr. Shea Weber."

"I'm looking forward to it," Mitch says. And yeah, Dylan is, too.

-0-

Dylan comes awake in the morning to the sound of Mitch talking softly to someone. He rolls over to check his phone, but it's not there. "Babe?" Dylan calls.

Mitch is sitting at the desk, and he turns around with a guilty expression. "Sorry I woke you. Ryan called, and I thought I'd better answer."

Dylan makes grabby hands. "Hi, Ryan," he says when Mitch hands over his phone.

"Dude, why didn't you tell me Davo's seeing someone?" Ryan demands. "I took him out for a drink last night to talk baby logistics and he had the biggest hickey I've ever seen!"

"No way!" Dylan says, completely shocked.

"I haven't told you the best part," Ryan says. "It's, like, way up high on his neck, so if he'd had it during the first period I would've seen it."

"Holy shit. Connor's fucking someone on the _team_?"

Mitch knocks Dylan's lamp off the bedside table. " _What_?"

Dylan puts his phone on speaker and puts it on the bed. "Details," he demands. "Who? When did it start?"

"I don't know," Ryan says. Dylan watches as Mitch picks up the lamp and inspects it. He shrugs as he puts it back on the bedstand, and Dylan grins. "I asked him, but he just did his 'nope, I'm a no-comment tomato' routine."

"We have a mission," Mitch says gravely, grinning maniacally as he sits next to Dylan. "We have to know."

Dylan feels his eyes go wide. There are _so many_ options. "Think we can bribe him with footage from the ultrasound?"

"If it comes to that," Mitch says. "I bet we don't even need to. I bet if we get him on Skype we can figure it out, but that's a good backup plan."

"So you really didn't know?" Ryan asks. "Because I've been out of the loop a lot lately."

"I didn't not invite you on purpose," Dylan says. "It's not like a fuckton of planning went into it. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Hey, I'm just excited I knew something first," Ryan says.

"Congratulations," Dylan snaps. He scowls when Mitch shoots him a look. He knows he's overreacting, but it's not like he means to.

Ryan snorts. "Okay, I'm just gonna go put myself in time out. Take care of my boy, Mitch."

"Mine now," Mitch says. He reaches out to end the call when Dylan doesn't move to. "Hey, what's up?"

"Ryan came to visit," Dylan starts, but then he clams up. He can't help himself.

Mitch frowns. "Yeah, I know. Did something happen? Should I not have answered when he called?"

"No, I—" Dylan shakes his head. "He came to visit because the game in Mississauga was a shitshow."

"How so?" Mitch asks. "I mean, I thought—I figured it'd be tough if your parents didn't show, but Ryan said Matt would be there."

Dylan crosses his arms over his chest. "Mom was there. And it was... not good."

"Shit," Mitch mutters, scooting closer. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Dylan says, sniffling and trying not to cry. "She tried to—she said they only want what's _best_ for me. But I guess that doesn't include asking me how I'm doing."

"Like you don't get a say in what's best for you?" Mitch says incredulously. "And, wait, fuck that if she thinks I'm _bad_ for you or whatever."

Dylan's face crumples. This is exactly why he didn't tell Mitch earlier: it's only hurting him, and neither of them can do jack _shit_ to fix it.

"Hey, hey," Mitch says, reaching out to pull Dylan's down into his shoulder. He sighs. "I'm sorry that happened, babe. I'm sorry I couldn't be there. I wish I could help."

"You can't. It is what it is." And Dylan feels like crap for bringing it up.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mitch asks after a moment. "About your mom."

Dylan pulls away and tucks his legs up, curling into a ball of misery. "You can't do anything about it."

"Well, no," Mitch says, blinking at him. "But I'm pretty sure that's part of how this whole thing works. We talk about shit, even when it's not good." He reaches out and taps Dylan's wedding ring.

Dylan... has apparently gotten too used to being the captain and looking out for everyone else. "It really fucking sucks," he admits, and lets Mitch hug him.

"I'm sorry, babe," Mitch sighs into his hair. "I know it's not the same, and, like. I hope this doesn't make it worse." He hesitates. "But my family's pretty excited? And they love you like crazy."

Dylan leans on Mitch's shoulder and takes a breath. "Tell me more."

Mitch can talk about his family forever; he starts telling Dylan about the baby gifts Chris has been threatening to get them, and moves from there to some of the random baby facts his parents have been texting him. It helps Dylan calm down, the combination of Mitch's voice and the proof that yeah, there are a ton of people who are excited for the kid he and Mitch are having. And some of them aren't even Dylan's teammates!

Mitch nudges him after a while. "Hey, so. We should eat, and you should tell me more about Dr. Shea."

Dylan laughs. "Oh my god, he's a giant."

"I mean, I assumed that much," Mitch says, pushing Dylan away gently and standing. "I'll make you my breakfast specialty, c'mon."

"Toast and yogurt? Dylan says. "Really, don't go to the trouble."

They end up going out for real food, because the speck— _damn it_ , the baby—demands a mountain of protein. Mitch watches, a look of horrified fascination on his face, as Dylan demolishes a tall stack of pancakes and an entire side of sausage.

"What?" Dylan says when he's done, reaching across the table for Mitch's eggs.

Mitch slaps his hand. "First, mine," he says. "And second, I read that you're not supposed to eat eggs unless they're, like, super cooked."

Dylan shoots him a murderous glare but he lets go of Mitch's plate.

"Besides," Mitch adds, "I ordered you a side of hash browns and bacon while you were inhaling your first round." He grins as the waitress comes back into view with two loaded-up plates that Dylan hadn't even heard him order.

"I love you," Dylan says, eyes fixed on the bacon.

"He's leaving me for bacon," Mitch sighs, and the waitress laughs as she walks away. Dylan grins at him through a mouthful of bacon-y deliciousness.

Mitch pays for all the food while Dylan's not looking, too, and Dylan scowls until Mitch points out that Dylan's paying for the doctor.

"Fine," Dylan grumbles. "But you're not allowed to laugh at Dr. Shea until we get back to the car."

"I'll try," Mitch promises. "But, like, if he's actually as tall as Shea Weber, I'm probably not going to laugh at him without all of my pads on."

Dylan thinks about it for a minute. "He might actually be a little taller."

"Why?" Mitch asks plaintively. "Shea Weber's already too tall."

"I hope our kid gets my height," Dylan says, grinning. "And hey, Weber isn't as tall as John Scott."

"Or Chara," Mitch says. "Chara's way too tall. There should be a limit, and he's over it."

"It's not Chara's fault you're pocket-sized," Dylan says innocently.

Mitch gives him a playful shove and then looks horrified at himself.

"Stop that," Dylan says sternly, pulling up short and pointing at Mitch. "That face. And whatever's in your head to go with it. I'm only no-contact on the ice."

"But—" Mitch protests.

Dylan bends down and murmurs, right in Mitch's ear, "Unless you _want_ me to be totally no-contact off the ice." Then he bites Mitch's ear lobe.

"That's different," Mitch protests weakly.

"Oh, okay." Dylan plants his hands on Mitch's shoulders and shoves him back into the car. "Guess I couldn't possibly do _that_." He steps between Mitch's legs and bends down, stopping just short of kissing him.

Mitch looks torn between being pissed and being really turned on. "Dyls?"

"Something wrong?" Dylan teases.

"You win, fuck, just kiss me," Mitch says, grabbing Dylan by the hips.

They make out for a while, and it's pretty fucking great. Mitch is fun when he's annoyed with himself.

"We need to go," Mitch murmurs eventually. "Babe. Doctor."

Dylan snorts. "Dr. Cockblock."

Mitch makes a face. "Now I'm thinking about Shea Weber cockblocking me."

"That should help kill your boner," Dylan says, giving Mitch's lap a goodbye pat as he straightens up. Mitch is pouting at him when Dylan gets into the driver's seat, but they honestly do need to get going, so Dylan just smiles as sweetly as he can manage and turns the car on.

-0-

Dr. Weber smiles when he walks into the exam room. "Is this another friend?"

"No," Mitch says indignantly. "I'm his husband."

"It's good to meet you," Dr. Weber says. "Sorry; Dylan said that you were out of town a lot, and that he had a bunch of friends as a support system. I shouldn't have assumed."

Mitch eyes him warily and takes a seat. "I made sure I could be here for this one."

"Good," Dr. Weber says. He's just as weirdly cheerful as last time. "We're going to get a look at what's going on inside today."

Dylan takes Mitch's hand and squeezes hard.

"We'll be able to give you a more accurate due date," Dr. Weber continues. "Right now, we're just going off of when you think the baby was conceived. Once we get some measurements, we'll know more." They go through the basics—blood pressure, yet another piss test, charting Dylan's weight—and then it's time for the big show.

"Let me guess," Dylan says when Dr. Weber grabs a bottle of gel from the ultrasound cart. "It's gonna be cold?"

"Nope," Dr. Weber says, smiling. "We have warmers. It should be nice and body-temperature by now."

Dylan can't look at Mitch right now or he'll crack up laughing, but it's pretty tempting to steal the lube warmer. Dr. Weber raises an eyebrow as he points the bottle at Dylan. "Whatever you're thinking, I guarantee I've heard it before. I'm a male pregnancy specialist."

Dylan just smiles innocently and hops up on the bed. He doesn't have to get undressed, just unbutton his pants and tuck a paper towel into the top. To avoid spills, he thinks, trying not to snicker. It actually is pretty warm; despite Dr. Weber saying it would be, Dylan was still kind of bracing himself.

Weber laughs. "Well, your little one isn't happy I'm poking at them. Look at all the movement." He turns the screen so Dylan and Mitch can see, and the baby waves its arms around angrily.

"It looks like a baby," Mitch blurts out, and Dylan flaps around for his hand without taking his eyes away from the screen.

Dr. Weber makes a couple of clicks on the screen. "Sounds like a baby too," he says as the heartbeat fills the room. He keeps working, taking measurements and making notes on his screen, but Dylan isn't paying attention.

"Oh my god," Mitch says reverently. He's got Dylan's fingers in a death grip, but Dylan's holding right back. "Dyls. That's our _kid_."

Dylan just nods and keeps staring, taking it all in.

"The heart rate is 165, which is perfect," Weber says. "And it looks like you're measuring at eight weeks, two days."

"Eight weeks, two days," Dylan repeats faintly. "That's... wow."

Mitch makes a squeaking noise. "That's. I think that's the first fucking day, Dyls."

"Well it wasn't going to be a week later," Dylan says dryly. "We only _had_ three days."

Dr. Weber ignores them, which Dylan is profoundly grateful for. "That puts your estimated due date at October 10th."

Dylan's heart sinks. "I thought it was a little earlier. That's the first week of the regular season." The schedule hasn't officially been announced yet, but it's always early October unless there's a lockout.

"Well, when it gets closer to your due date, we can work around specific days," Dr. Weber says. "We can't pick anything now, but male pregnancies almost always end with a C-section, so you get a little bit of liberty there."

Dylan nods stupidly and bites his lip, determined not to cry.

"I'll be there," Mitch says quietly. "If that's what you're worrying about."

Dylan can't talk about it right now. He just... can't. So he squeezes Mitch's hand and focuses on the baby.

Dr. Weber stops his clicking and looks at Dylan, then at Mitch. "Do you want a copy of the video?"

Mitch runs his thumb over the back of Dylan's hand, waiting for him to answer.

"Absolutely," Dylan says, pretending he doesn't hear Mitch let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay," Dr. Weber says. "We're done with everything we needed to do today. Do you have any questions for me?"

Dylan shakes his head. Whatever he'd been thinking before, his mind's gone totally blank. He lets go of Mitch and wipes off his stomach with the paper towel.

Dr. Weber nods at them after a moment. "You're going to want to start thinking about where you want to have the baby," he says. "If it's here, my office can help arrange everything. If you're going to be going elsewhere, though, we should start the process of getting things set up there."

"It's probably going to be Toronto," Dylan's mouth says without any input from his brain. The Leafs haven't even released their prospect roster yet, but it feels right; they'd be stupid not to offer Mitch a contract, and anyway Mitch's family is there. That counts for a lot. Mitch makes a startled noise next to him, and when he looks over Mitch is grinning stupidly. Dylan manages a small smile for him. "I guess we need to find a doctor up there."

"We can help with that, if you want," Dr. Weber says.

Mitch takes Dylan's hand again, and when Weber turns away he kisses Dylan's knuckles. "I love you," he says really quietly.

Dylan's smile broadens. "I love you too."

Dr. Weber coughs really obviously before he turns back around and presents Dylan with a CD case. "This should play in any DVD player," he says. "It's everything we recorded today."

Dylan takes it and bumps Mitch with his shoulder. "Think your family's gonna want their own physical copy?"

"Uh, yeah," Mitch says. "Mom and Chris are both going to want one."

"Connor too," Dylan admits reluctantly. "I can take this one with me to New York, though."

"What if we just put the file on, like, thumb drives?" Mitch wonders. "I mean, my mom is definitely going to want a DVD, but we can probably get away with not burning a million copies."

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mr. Strome," Dr. Weber interrupts, his eyes twinkling. "It sounds like you have a tough decision to make."

Mitch's jaw drops open as he realizes the doctor is _fucking with him_. "Marner," he says belatedly, holding out his hand. "I'm Mitch Marner. Nice to meet you."

Dr. Weber shakes his hand. "I'm glad to hear you and your family are so involved. Dylan's going to need you."

"I'm here as much as I can be," Mitch says, shooting Dylan a guilty glance. "More after my season ends."

"But when that happens I'll be moving to Toronto," Dylan adds, "so I don't know if you two are going to see much of each other."

"Well, wherever you end up, I'm glad that you have each other," Dr. Weber says. "Congratulations again, gentlemen."

Dylan grins; he likes hearing that. "Thanks."

-0-

Connor pesters them all day and half of the night for the ultrasound video, and Dylan tells him he can have it after his next game. "You need to outscore Eichs," he declares. "You're gonna be in Buffalo. Make his face do that thing where it clashes with his hair when he gets mad enough, and you can see the video."

"Dyls," Connor honest-to-god whines.

"Davo," Dylan whines right back.

Connor blinks sadly, then tries, "Mitch?"

"I told him you needed another hatty," Mitch says. "I'm not the voice of reason here."

They tease Connor until he signs off, still pouting, and Mitch grins. "So, I have an idea."

"That sounds dangerous."

"What if we drive up to the game tomorrow?" Mitch says. "We can give him the video in person; plus, he can't run away when we ask him about his mystery boyfriend if we're right there."

Dylan hums thoughtfully. "It wouldn't be worth coming back before the London game."

Mitch shrugs. "So come home with me. Have Brinksy drive your car up to London, and you can just go back to Erie after."

Dylan grins evilly. "Let's do it."

Mitch leans in to peck him on the lips. "You're hot when you're pranking Davo," he says.

"How hot?" Dylan asks, sliding his hands up Mitch's shirt.

"Super hot," Mitch replies, smirking. "Want me to show you?"

They get a good night's sleep, eventually, and in the morning Dylan fills Coach in on his plans. It's not like Dylan would've been travelling on the team bus anyway, so Coach has no problem letting him go. They debate on the drive up on whether or not they should ask Eichs to get them good tickets; on the one hand, Dylan would love to not be hounded by people who recognise them, but on the other, if they're in the box they'll probably be on TV.

When they're at a stop light Mitch puts his hand on Dylan's thigh. "We could just watch it at the hotel."

Dylan blinks. "That's actually genius," he says. "It's not like the two of us can watch a game without yelling, and also, we can use all the camera closeups to see if we can narrow down our list of people he might be fucking."

"Probably not Ference," Mitch replies, "but we should suggest it anyway just to see the look on his face."

"We can probably knock all the married guys off the list," Dylan says. "But yeah, Ference totally stays on. His face will be so worth it."

"For sure," Mitch says, grinning.

They spend the rest of the drive scheming, trying to decide which names will make Connor pull the best faces. Talbot and Brossoit are both on that list, because _goalies_. Who in their right mind would ask a goalie to give them a love bite? That's asking for permanent injury. Goalies have extra-strong jaws so they can bite a puck in half. At least, that's one of the things Connor had said right after his surgery, still incredibly high on painkillers but unwilling to hang up the phone and go the fuck to sleep.

Dylan's got a list. One day, if Connor's especially annoying, Dylan's planning to make an Instagram post, #hockeyfactsbymcdavid, complete with pics of Connor drooling on himself. He was the _grossest_ napper during road trips with the Otters. Dylan almost feels like he's been pre-gaming for baby drool just by being friends with Connor. He was worse even than Mitch when Mitch still had braces.

They check into their hotel in Buffalo with almost two hours before puck drop, so they get actual food instead of ordering room service. Mitch orders them a slice of cake "to split," then seems to suddenly remember that he hates carrot cake. He beams while Dylan enjoys it, and Dylan isn't even a little fooled, but he's pretty fucking charmed. Then they send Connor a snap of the two of them in front of the hotel, captioned _family road trip_.

Connor doesn't reply until first intermission, but Dylan hadn't expected him to; he's pretty vigilant about putting his phone away before the game so he can "get in the zone." He lets himself check it between periods, though. _ARE YOU HERE???_

Dylan sends back a snap of himself and Mitch cuddled up on their bed, the TV on in the background. _baby's tired so we're chillin'_.

His phone is ringing before the screen even dims. "Did you two seriously drive all the way to Buffalo just to watch the game on television?" Connor demands. "Quick answer. I have to be ready to get back on the ice in three."

"Yes, and we're stealing you for late-night munchies," Dylan replies. "Remember, get more points than Eichs, or we're leaving without giving you video!"

He hangs up.

Connor texts him eight crying emojis before he has to get back into the game. Mitch laughs every time Dylan's phone lights up with a new one, and Dylan just smiles smugly.

Connor ends up with both of Edmonton's goals while Eichs gets five shots and a few penalty minutes. Dylan picks up his phone to text Connor, but Connor has already texted him a string of smiley faces. _text me ur room # i want pics now!!!_

_idk man,_ Dylan texts back. _no hatty, no pics?_

Connor snaps a photo of himself epic pouting. _that wasn't the deal!!!!_

"I think he might actually cry if we threaten to not give him the video," Mitch says, leaning into Dylan's space. "I mean, we should definitely hold it over his head, but maybe not too much."

Dylan sighs dramatically. "You're right. I'll text him the room number."

"I'll go get snacks," Mitch says. "Any requests?"

Dylan just raises his eyebrows. 

"Right. Pretzels. And post-game grossness for Connor."

Dylan beams. "I'm sure he brought his own protein powder."

"What if I got him, like, a hot dog from a gas station store," Mitch says thoughtfully. "It'll be almost eleven by the time he gets here. That'll make it, like, at least six hours old."

"I think we've got enough torture planned for him," Dylan says, laughing. "I'll keep that one in mind, though. Future considerations."

"Noted," Mitch says. "I'll be back."

Dylan kicks back, smug in the knowledge that his two favourite people are dancing like puppets on his strings. He doesn't mean to fall asleep, but it's something that just happens to him these days.

He wakes up to the sound of knocking at the door, but before he can blink himself awake enough to get out of bed and answer it, it swings open. Mitch walks in, carrying three plastic bags full of what Dylan suspects is an astounding amount of junk food, and Connor enters just behind him.

Connor's face goes soft when he catches sight of Dylan, like he's just scrolled to a picture of a sleepy puppy. "Hi," Connor says quietly, like he's trying not to wake Dylan up.

"Stop," Dylan whines, flapping his hand in Connor's general direction. Of course, that just makes Mitch make the face, too.

"Up, babe," Mitch says. "I got pretzels. And five Gatorades, because you're picky about that shit." Connor makes a sad noise, and Mitch rolls his eyes. "I got you Gogurt, don't worry."

Dylan makes room for Connor and Mitch on the bed and rips into his pretzels. He magnanimously lets Connor have a handful, because he needs to carbo load after the game.

Mitch keeps passing food to Connor; it's pretty great, because the more Connor eats, the more comfortable he gets. It makes the look on his face even more amazing when Dylan finally springs. "So. Who gave you that giant hickey the night you played Ryan?"

" _What_?" Connor squeaks, throwing his hands up and raining pretzels onto the floor.

"The hickey," Dylan says patiently. He leans over and pokes Connor in the neck. "Apparently it was right about here? Since you seem to have forgotten." Then he makes a show of leaning in and looking closely. "Huh. I think it's still there."

"Go away," Connor says, but he's completely red, and he slaps a hand over the exact right spot on his neck. "I came here for cute baby pictures and _this_ is what I get."

"Is it Draisaitl?" Mitch asks, ignoring Connor completely. "He's hot as fuck. I mean, no offense, Dyls, but."

"No, totally," Dylan agrees.

Connor whips around, glancing between them with a horrified look on his face. "No!"

"Huh," Mitch says. "One of your new Adams? Cracknell or Pardy?"

Connor just shoves him, so Dylan strikes that one off the list. "Hallsy or Ebs?"

"Hallsy _and_ Ebs?" Mitch corrects. "Good luck separating those two."

"Point," Dylan concedes. "Gazdic?"

"I am not fucking my roommates!" Connor yells.

It's pretty great, honestly; Connor's face gets more and more horrified with each name, and he actually falls off the bed in his haste to back away when Dylan brings up Ference.

Mitch frowns and consults the list on his phone. "Shit. That's everyone on the active list."

Dylan leans across to check the injured reserves. "Klefbom's hot. I hope it's not Davidson, though; your names are too matchy-matchy."

Then Dylan's eyes reach the bottom of the list, and #93—oh. He should have guessed; now that he's thinking about it, he remembers the talk he and Connor had had after the wedding. He grabs at Mitch's arm and shakes him the tiniest bit. They both look up at Connor, who's looking up at the ceiling. "Nugent-Hopkins," he says, and watches as Connor blushes from the tips of his ears all the way down beneath the collar of his shirt in record time.

"Oh my god," Mitch whispers. "It _is_."

Dylan kicks out his foot to nudge Connor in the thigh. "You left your boyfriend at home on IR when you came to our wedding? Not cool, Davo."

"It's not like that!" Connor protests. "We're not _like that_."

Mitch starts laughing so hard he falls off the bed too. "Oh my god, you're fuckbuddies with a guy whose nickname is _Nugget_. Children grow up so fast."

Dylan is equally merciless. "What _is_ it like, Davo? What, you just give him a blowjob whenever he doesn't want to take his Percocet?"

Connor hides his face behind a pillow and makes a pained noise.

"Oh my god, you _do_. Is it for the good of hockey?" Dylan asks gleefully. Connor throws the pillow at him and he bats it away easily.

"You don't understand!" Connor blurts out. "Hallsy and Ebs got back together and they're fucking _all over the apartment!_ I had to go to Nuge's place in self-defence!"

"And you... paid in blowjobs?"

On the floor, Mitch lets out a hysterical giggle, but he doesn't make any move to get up.

"I hate you both," Connor says miserably.

"Nah," Dylan says. "I'll forgive the fact that you almost let Sass Master Eichel score the game winner tonight if you tell us all about your amazing courtship." Connor looks like he'd rather go up against Zdeno Chara in the hardest shot competition. "And _then_ you can see the ultrasound," Dylan tempts.

"It totally looks like a real baby," Mitch adds from the floor. "And you can hear the heartbeat."

Connor lets out a shaky breath and looks like he's going to cry. "Really?"

"Really," Mitch says, crawling across the floor to give him a hug.

Dylan snorts. "I'd join you, but—"

"Don't you dare," Connor blurts out.

"Details for details," Dylan says instead of actually laughing out loud. "You share, we share."

Connor goes back to staring at the ceiling. "So. It kind of started because my team are assholes, not unlike _you two_."

"Well, yeah," Dylan says agreeably.

"They took pity on me for a while, but then I got home and started recovering from surgery," Connor continues, "and Hallsy told everyone how hilarious it was watching me try to reach anything above my waist."

Mitch snickers. "I bet there were a few jokes about how much you could reach _below_ your waist, too."

"Assholes," Dylan concedes, grinning.

"Nuge was nice about it," Connor says. "He spent an hour in my kitchen getting stuff off of shelves and putting it onto the counters for me. And moving all of Hallsy's shit to the very back of the super high shelves."

That last part makes Connor blush bright red, again, so Dylan taps Connor's ankle. "Tell us more about that last part, Davo. Did he have to _stretch_ up to reach?"

"He's hot, okay," Connor mumbles. "And he caught me looking, and, well, we might have had to clean one of the counters _really well_."

Mitch holds his hand up for a fistbump; Dylan starts a slow clap. "Get it, Davo!"

Connor covers his face with both hands. "It only happened once. I think he felt weird about it because I was on painkillers?"

"Let me guess," Mitch says. "You didn't use your big boy words to talk about it."

"No," Connor mumbles.

Dylan shakes his head sadly.

"So. Then he broke his hand," Connor goes on. "And he was home all the time on IR, and so was I, and then Hallsy and Ebs got back together." He makes a face. "They need to clean _way_ more than one counter in the kitchen. My choices were either hang out with Nuge, who was newly roommate-less, or risk getting arrested for murdering both of them."

"And he asked you to Netflix and chill," Dylan concludes, waggling his eyebrows even though Connor can't see him.

"Uh," Connor says after a moment. "Pretty much, yeah."

Mitch cracks up again, pressing his face against Connor's shoulder.

Dylan does actual chin hands. "So what you're saying is, you owe Hallsy and Ebs a fruit basket. Or like, a sampler basket with lube and flavoured condoms."

Connor points a finger at him. "You have _no_ room to chirp me about condoms, like, ever."

"Get tested," Dylan recommends. "Like, get super tested. Both of you." Pretty soon he's going to be the NHL's cautionary whale.

"Wait," Mitch says, raising himself up on one elbow. "Nugget's been on IR for over a month. You hooked up last year, and then you were a failbot, but now you've been fucking for a _month_?"

"Good point!" Dylan says, and turns the interrogation back on Connor. "I don't see how this gets you out of at least telling us about it when you were in Erie."

"It's just," Connor says, and he lets out the saddest sigh Dylan's maybe ever heard. "I mean, he's on IR, I'm on IR. Hallsy and Ebs got together while they were both on IR, and I think they finally have their shit together now, but it's been _years_. I don't know if there'll be anything to even talk about once we're both healthy."

Mitch lets out a squeaky noise. When Dylan's look at him, his face is bright red from holding himself back. "Let it out before you have a stroke, Marns," he says.

"Oh my _god_ , you think Hallsy and Ebs are role models," Mitch blurts out.

"Hey," Connor objects. He _finally_ uncovers his face, so he can use his hands to facewash Mitch.

"No," Mitch wheezes. "Davo. Buddy. There's no way you have less of your shit together than those two combined."

"Magical laundry gnome," Dylan adds, just as a reminder. "How long did it take Hallsy to figure out Ebs was basically his butler?"

Mitch takes a minute to get his breathing under control, but once he does, he claps Connor on the arm. "Try talking to him," he advises. "Words are hard, I know, but I have faith in you."

"You can make fun of Ebs and Hallsy for how long it took them to figure their shit out if you figure _your_ shit out in less time," Dylan points out.

Connor scowls. "I could be getting laid _right now_ but instead I came to see you two jerks. Can't remember why."

"Because we're here to help you get your relationship in order," Dylan says promptly. "Also, baby video." He pulls out his phone and brings up the video. "Speaking of which..."

Connor shoves Mitch away from him so fast you'd think it was junior quarter-finals all over again. "Gimme!" he says, scrambling up onto the bed. Mitch crowds right up behind him, and Dylan's breath catches a little when he sees how eager Mitch is to see it again. It's like they hadn't spent an hour this morning watching it over and over. Then again, Mitch isn't the one who made their baby the background on his phone less than ten minutes after they got home.

"Get ready," Dylan says, finger hovering above his phone screen. "This is seriously amazing." Then he hits play.


	10. Chapter 10

When they head off for London, Mitch gets kind of excited that he finally gets to have the "full road trip experience" with Dylan. That lasts about half an hour, until Dylan makes him stop for the third time. The two and a half hour drive is... a lot longer than that.

Dylan buys Mitch some apology Skittles when they stop just before London, but it backfires pretty much immediately; as soon as Mitch opens the bag and the smell wafts out, Dylan finds himself snatching the bag back and chomping away at them. Of all the things that might've tested their relationship—distance, team rivalry, growing apart—it looks like candy might be the last straw.

"Those are _mine_ ," Mitch says, clearly betrayed. "You don't even like Skittles, what the hell."

Dylan clutches the Skittles to his chest. "Don't blame me! Your kid wants your Skittles."

Mitch looks torn between _kid_ and _but, Skittles_. He sighs after a moment. "You owe me another pack," he grumbles.

"Sorry," Dylan grumbles back. He's never been happier for a car ride to be over.

"Let's just go inside," Mitch says. "We can have real food. I'm hungry, so you're probably ready to eat the steering wheel."

"Yeah, okay." Maybe that's why Dylan's feeling off—wound up and cranky.

Mitch's billet parents are nice enough. Dylan's met them a few times now, and they don't seem to mind him hanging around the house when Mitch isn't there. Things are a little weird for the rest of the day, though; Dylan keeps finding himself almost snapping at Mitch without really knowing why, and he can tell Mitch is feeling the same thing. It helps that Mitch has an afternoon practice; a few hours on his own gives Dylan the chance to nap and recharge.

He wakes up when his phone rings, and it takes him a minute to find it; Mitch's room isn't set up like Dylan's is, so he smacks around at empty space looking for the bedstand before opening his eyes. For once it's not Mitch calling to check in.

Dylan frowns, because practice was over like an hour ago, and answers the call. "Brinksy. Hey."

"You sound like crap," Brinksy replies.

"Nap," Dylan says shortly. "What's up?"

"Yeah, okay, crankypants," Brinksy says. "What's actually going on? Because I've woken you up from a nap before, and you sounded less like I ran over ten puppies on my way to practice."

Dylan sighs. "I don't get it. When we drove to Buffalo everything was fine, but today it was like every single thing I did was wrong."

Brinksy makes a weird noise. "Is he being a dickhead?"

"I don't know," Dylan says, and to his horror he starts sniffling. His voice wobbles when he adds, "I ate his Skittles."

"Is he mad at you over _Skittles_?" Brinksy asks incredulously.

"I don't think so," Dylan says, scrubbing at his eyes. "I think it's one of those things, like, we're fighting over the Skittles, but it's not about the Skittles? I just don't know what it's actually about."

Brinksy makes a growling noise. "It's about me needing to kick his ass tomorrow." 

"Brinks," Dylan says, laughing even though it's a little wobbly. "Brinksy. Alex. Please don't break yourself trying to fight my husband over my honour."

"I have better aim than Davo," Brinksy says dismissively. "You're crying, dude. He's getting face-punched. It's a thing."

"I'm not crying," Dylan protests, which, okay, that's kind of a lie, but Brinksy can't see him right now.

"Stromer," Brinksy says longsufferingly. "You're a shit liar. Also, I can hear you."

Whoops. "I'm not crying much?"

"So I won't break him much," Brinksy says. "That's how math works."

Dylan pauses. "Are you, like, passing math right now? Because I'm honestly not sure if you understand it."

"I understand what my fist plus his face adds up to."

"That's definitely going to help you graduate," Dylan says dryly. "'I don't know how to solve for x, but I can equate punches with bloody noses.'"

"That's why I'm the best man," Brinksy says smugly.

"I'm not talking you out of this, am I?" Dylan asks. "Because you don't need to punch him. You really probably shouldn't punch him."

"I'm gonna punch him," Brinksy says. "Give me one reason why not."

"Because Davo would cry," Dylan replies. "And Davo already has enough going on with his soap opera love life." When in doubt, tempt Brinksy with drama.

Sure enough, Brinksy pauses. "Tell me more," he demands.

"He's got a thing for a _teammate_ ," Dylan says. "And he's afraid he's the only one with feelings."

"Ooh," Brinksy coos, and he settles in to listen.

Dylan doesn't name names—Brinksy will have to hit up Connor for that—but he does wring maximum drama and ridiculousness out of the story. It's honestly not even that hard; Connor's life is ridiculous, and Dylan's the pregnant teenager who married the person who's essentially his high school sweetheart.

"Huh," Brinksy says when Dylan stops talking. "Going by Eichel's' cranky faces, I thought for sure Connor was still sleeping with Hanny."

"Nope," Dylan says. "I have no idea who Hanny's doing now, but it's not Connor." He pauses. "Well, or Eichs. There's no way his resting bitchface would be set to fourteen if he was getting laid on the regular."

Mitch walks in the door, just catching the end of what Dylan's saying. _Eichs?_ he mouths.

Dylan nods, grinning. "Hey, so, I'm gonna go," he says. "See you tomorrow?"

"Punching," Brinksy reminds him. "It's my duty, if your man doesn't get his shit together."

"I'll work on it," Dylan says.

When he hangs up Mitch asks, "Work on what?"

Dylan waves a hand. "Secret Otter stuff."

Mitch rolls his eyes, but he's smiling a little. He looks more relaxed, like his time on the ice helped him work through whatever was going on in his head. Dylan doesn't really want to bring it up, but he's pretty sure this is one of those _adult moments_ he's not supposed to ignore.

"So," Dylan starts, because _that's_ eloquent, ugh. "Um. I'm sorry I was a pain in the ass."

"About the Skittles?" Mitch asks cautiously. "Because I wasn't actually mad about the Skittles."

"About everything. The trip took, like, twice as long," Dylan points out.

"Because you had to pee," Mitch points out. "Like, babe, thanks for making me stop every twenty minutes instead of going in the car."

"Then I don't—" Dylan chokes up, and rubs his hand over his eyes. "I don't understand what's going on."

Mitch walks over and hovers near the bed. "Don't cry," he says. "Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Why are you _mad_?" Dylan gets out, and yeah, he's gonna be ugly-sobbing any minute now. Mitch being mad at him and not knowing why is freaking him out. What if Dylan's mom is right, and this doesn't work out?

"I'm not mad?" Mitch tries.

"You're not _not_ mad," Dylan shoots back.

Mitch sits down on the bed next to him. "I just... We're having a kid together, and there's nothing I can do to help. I thought I'd be able to _do_ more."

"Like what?" Dylan says. "Trading off who gets to be knocked up on which day? Puking for me when shit smells terrible?"

"You asked," Mitch says tightly.

"That doesn't make any sense," Dylan says. He wants to curl up into a ball and cry until he feels better, or falls asleep. "I can't fix that."

"I'm not asking you to fix it. I thought having you here would help, but now I just feel worse because I know you have to go _home_." Mitch's voice starts wobbling too. "We're having a baby, Dyls, and I don't get to be there."

"You'll be there," Dylan says immediately. He takes a breath, unsurprised when it doesn't help, and reaches out to lay his hand on Mitch's thigh. "You _are_ there. And it's just until the end of the season."

"And then next season," Mitch says quietly. "When you're in Arizona with our kid, and I'm in Toronto. And the season after that, and after that..."

"Stop." Dylan squeezes Mitch's leg tight.

"Davo gets to go home to a guy he's not even dating," Mitch blurts out, and apparently that's it—that's the end of Mitch's ability to handle shit. He drops his face into his hands and starts crying.

"Babe," Dylan says, pulling Mitch in and holding as tightly as he can. "I love you."

"I love you too. I love both of you," Mitch chokes out. "This sucks." Now that he's thinking about it, Dylan realizes he should've seen this coming. Mitch's family is ridiculously close; no wonder this whole thing is hard on him.

"Do you," Dylan says hesitantly. He has to swallow hard. "Do you still want to do it?"

"Yes," Mitch says instantly. "Fuck. Yes." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Do you?"

"Of course I do," Dylan replies. "It's not going to be easy, but we're hockey players. Easy isn't in the playbook."

"Neither are kids," Mitch says. "That's probably a good thing, though. Can you imagine trying to whiteboard that?" He holds his hands out in front of him and drops his tone. "On the left, baby wipes. On the right, diaper tape. Up the center, tiny snaps. This is how we're attacking it."

Dylan snorts. "It could be worse; at least we're only having one." He's done some reading and apparently a lot of G+ athletes end up having fertility treatments after they retire, so twins and triplets are legion.

Mitch starts laughing. "Oh my god, I can't even imagine it."

Dylan starts laughing too, and he's pretty sure they make a terrible picture: they're both a tear-soaked mess, laughing a little hysterically while holding onto each other. Still, it's the best he's felt all day.

"We should make Connor buy us pride tape," Dylan says, "and tell him it's for diaper practice, just to see the look on his face." Babies open up a whole new world of pranks.

"We should send him day-glo condoms," Mitch replies.

"We should send him every kind of weird condom we can find," Dylan says. "Dibs on not being the one who has to Google 'weird condoms,' though."

Mitch bumps shoulders with him. "You think I should let you off the hook just because you're pregnant?"

"I called dibs," Dylan says. "I think you should let me off the hook because that's literally the rules of dibs."

Mitch leans down close to Dylan's stomach. "I want you to bear witness: your dad's already trying to rules-lawyer me."

Dylan pokes his face. "Don't lie to the speck," he says sternly. "It's too little to know you're trying to manipulate it."

"I would never do such a thing!" Mitch says in mock-horror.

"Witness," Dylan says, patting his stomach. "Your dad is a liar."

Mitch pulls back and stares at him, eyes wide. "Which one of us is going to be Dad?"

Dylan opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. "Uh," he finally says. "Shit."

"I guess just this once you can call dibs," Mitch says faintly, "since you're doing all the hard work."

"Damn right," Dylan says. "So, uh. Dinner?"

Mitch grabs a Kleenex to wipe his face. "Washing up and then dinner."

Dylan leans in and steals a kiss before he gets up to go to the bathroom. A tissue isn't going to fix what's going on with his face. When he gets back, Mitch kisses him on the forehead and takes him by the hand.

-0-

Brinksy meets them at Budweiser Gardens ahead of the game. He spends a solid three minutes with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring for all he's worth at Mitch, while Taylor stands behind him and mouths _sorry_ at them. Dylan sends Mitch inside and grabs Brinksy by the arm so he won't follow him.

"Don't do anything," he warns. "We talked it out. We're fine. If you punch him, I will cry all over you and wipe my face on your suit."

Brinksy scowls at him. "It'd be worth it."

"I will blow my nose in your jacket," Dylan threatens. "And keep in mind that we're driving from here to Kitchener, and I know you don't pack spare suits."

"Ugh, fine," Brinksy concedes, "but at least tell me why, 'cause if he fucks up again I'll have to explain myself to Connor."

"We needed to talk," Dylan says firmly. "And we did, and now things are fine, and you don't get to know." He nods. "Married people stuff."

"Dyls," Brinksy whines. He looks a little hurt, actually, and—shit.

"Look, I'll tell you later, okay?" Dylan says quietly. "We've got the whole ride to Kitchener." Mitch's teammates are starting to wander in, and Dylan knows the Otters' bus will be arriving soon, too. He doesn't want everyone to know; it's really not their business.

Brinksy sighs loudly, like a tired puppy after a long walk, and drags Dylan into a hug.

Dylan hugs him tightly. "Thanks for having my back," he says.

They head inside, and Dylan leaves Brinksy and Taylor to get ready for the game. He heads to find Coach, and the rest of the pre-game is spent going over strategy and plays.

The game itself is great; the Knights take an early lead but then can't seem to get out of their own way, and by the time it's over Erie is up 6-2. Brinksy and Mitch chirp at each other, but neither of them takes a stupid penalty, so Dylan counts it as a smashing success. He checks his phone to get the final score of the Oilers-Flyers game, and heads back to the locker room. It's a relief to see that Connor came through unscathed; apparently he cross-checked Manning, but Dylan will completely forgive him on that count.

The team is pumped, but their enthusiasm just reminds Dylan how fucking tired he is. He figures quitting before he wants to pass out is the better part of valor, so he makes his way over to Coach. "Hey, mind if I head to the hotel?"

Coach waves him off, and Dylan heads out to a chorus of chirps and whistles.

Mitch has a game tomorrow, so Dylan brought his duffel to the rink with him. He forgot to move it from Mitch's car into his own earlier, so he texts Mitch a question mark and loiters in the hallway. He doesn't have to wait long; the Knights aren't in the middle of a team-wide celly.

"Hey," Mitch says tiredly, walking out of his locker room. Dylan knows that look; the only time being the captain sucks is after a tough loss, when you have to assure each and every guy that it wasn't on them, that everyone will do better next time.

Dylan wraps his arms around him and kisses the top of Mitch's head. They made the promise when they'd first gotten together: no talking about their games against each other. Dylan's sure it has saved their relationship more than once, so he just sways a little, letting Mitch sigh out some of his tension.

"I wish you could come home with me," Mitch says into Dylan's neck.

"Me too," Dylan says. "Team stuff, though."

"Team stuff," Mitch echoes. "Gotta go do captain-y team stuff."

"That's the stuff," Dylan confirms. "And, hey, speaking of stuff, my bag is still in your car."

Mitch squeezes Dylan tight. "If I were paranoid I'd say you did it on purpose."

"That's me," Dylan replies. "Always thinking up nefarious plans to get cuddles."

"The most nefarious thing you could do," Mitch says solemnly. He tilts his head back for a kiss, and Dylan is happy to oblige. They manage to keep it mostly family-friendly; Mitch is tired from the game, and Dylan's always tired. 

Mitch looks better when he pulls back and takes Dylan's hand, escorting him to the car like a true Canadian gentleman. Dylan almost protests when Mitch grabs the duffel from the back of his car, but this—this is a thing Mitch can do for him, Dylan reminds himself. It's not about Mitch babying him; it's about wanting to be involved however he can, while he still can. Dylan's incredibly aware that this might be the last time they see each other until their back-to-back at the end of the season. And judging by the way Mitch's hands linger on his waist, he's aware of it too.

"We're gonna be fine," Dylan says, pulling Mitch in after Mitch tosses the duffel into Dylan's car. "I'll FaceTime you later, after all my team shit."

Mitch manages a smile. "Okay. Take care of yourself, and the speck."

"Love you," Dylan says. He has to force himself to let go, but he manages.

"Love you too." Mitch heads back inside, and Dylan gets in the car.

It's good to be back with the team, even if Dylan's missing Mitch at the same time. They're all riding high on the win, bouncing around like they just came from a candy store, not a hard-fought game. Their energy is infectious enough to keep Dylan going for an hour or so, but then he heads back to his hotel room for a quick FaceTime before he sacks out.

When Mitch answers, his face lights up with the real smile he hadn't quite been able to manage when Dylan saw him after the game. They don't talk for long; Dylan tells him about Darren's new mission to set Taylor up to beat Brinksy in the scoring race, and Mitch replies with something about Juo's new idea for skate laces. It feels a lot more normal than pretty much all of yesterday had, so Dylan goes to sleep in a much better frame of mind.

In the morning he's feeling magnanimous enough to let Brinksy drive. He's able to talk about the whole not-really-fight he'd had with Mitch pretty calmly, and Brinksy doesn't threaten to turn around and beat the shit out Mitch even once.

The drive to Kitchener is mercifully short; Dylan's thrilled that he only has to stop once. He doesn't even feel like he needs to take a nap when they pull into the hotel, which is good, because he's planning to go to the rink so he can watch the pre-game practice. He's just putting his bag in his room and pulling his suit out of the garment bag when his phone rings. It's his agent, which isn't exactly unusual. Aaron's kept in touch pretty closely since Dylan told him about everything.

"Hey, Aaron," Dylan says, putting the phone on speaker so he can continue unpacking. "What's up?"

"Dylan," Aaron says, his tone deliberately calm and flat. It's his "don't spook the athlete" tone. "I know we talked about timing, but we're going to have to move things up."

Dylan freezes, balled-up dress socks in his hand. "What do you mean? Why?"

"I had a conversation with the Coyotes. They're not happy I stonewalled them about your injury, and I don't think they'll wait until the end of your first trimester." Aaron sighs, and just the fact that he's letting Dylan know he's anything less than 100% on top of this is kind of terrifying. "They're within their rights to request your medical records, but I think it'd go down better if we told them voluntarily."

"I," Dylan says, trying to swallow his panic. "So we have to tell them."

"They're going to find out one way or another, and I really think telling them is the best option at this point," Aaron says gently. "If we keep stonewalling them, they'll know you're hiding something, and they'll react more strongly when they find out what it is. If we present it to them on our terms, we have a better chance of controlling it."

Dylan's head starts to feel swimmy, so he sits down on the bed. "Yeah, I—that makes sense," he says flatly.

Aaron sighs. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't what we planned."

"Keep Mitch's name out of it," Dylan says. He knows Aaron doesn't need to be reminded, but he has to repeat it anyway. "Until later, until we make that call, this doesn't touch him."

"That part of the plan is definitely still in my strategy," Aaron assures him.

"Then do what you have to do," Dylan says, squeezing his eyes shut. "And, uh, let me know how it goes as soon as you can, I guess."

"I will," Aaron promises. "Just remember I'm on your team, always."

Dylan thanks him and hangs up. His hands are shaking, and he still feels dizzy. He really needs to calm down, but that's probably not happening for a little while, so he hits Brinksy's name on speed dial. Every piece of pregnancy advice says he should ask for help when he needs it, and now—now he really needs it.

"Yo," Brinksy says. "Do you have extra socks? Your feet are, like, freakishly huge, but I think I forgot to pack enough."

"Brinks," Dylan chokes out.

"Shit, what happened?" Brinksy asks, alarmed. "Are you okay? No, fuck, sorry. Are you in your room? I'm coming." He keeps talking to Dylan as he goes, a steady stream of, "You're okay, everything is fine, just tell me what to punch," until he's knocking on Dylan's door.

Dylan forces himself to stand up and open the door, and Brinksy walks in, still holding his phone to his ear. "Shit," he breathes into it, looking at whatever Dylan's face is doing. "What happened? Is it the speck?"

Dylan shakes his head. "It's fine. We're fine. I just..." He trails off, and whatever Brinksy sees on his face can't be good. 

He shuts the door, drops his phone, and strides across the room to gather Dylan into a hug. "I knew I should've punched Marns."

God, _Mitch_. "Fuck, I have to call him," Dylan chokes out. "It's not—my agent called me."

"Did he _drop_ you?" Brinksy says indignantly. "Son of a bitch! I'll—"

"—punch him, I know," Dylan says. "No. He says the Coyotes aren't buying the vague lower body thing anymore, and that if we don't tell them what's going on they'll request my medical files and find out that way."

"Dyls," Brinksy says helplessly, hanging on tight.

Dylan takes a shuddering breath. "What if this is it, Brinks?"

"If they release your rights you can be redrafted with me." 

"Not like this I can't," Dylan points out.

"You absolutely can," Brinksy says. "If the Coyotes—you are a fucking _amazing_ hockey player. So you have to take a year off, okay. Any team would be lucky to have you as a player, and in that year between drafting you and playing you, they'd be _so_ fucking lucky to have you in the locker room." He hugs Dylan even tighter. "We're lucky to have that. Anyone who doesn't get that doesn't deserve to have you."

"That's not how the NHL works." Dylan presses his face into Brinksy's shoulder and tries not to think about all the people who've gone undrafted, all the talented draft picks who never made the show, and all the rookies who got royally fucked over. It's an open secret that rookie contracts are only a couple steps up from indentured servitude—you go where you're told when you're told, because management has all the leverage. And if you have an injury you just suck it up and pray the doctors let you take enough time to recover. Connor got lucky with his broken collarbone and the support the Oilers gave him; other people have ended up with permanent damage because they were pressured to come back early.

Brinksy sighs a little. "If they let you go, though, that's against the law," he says. "Discrimination. It's super against the CBA, too.

"I didn't want to tell them yet," Dylan admits. "I'm not even through the first trimester. What if I go through all this and I lose the baby anyway?"

"Don't say that," Brinksy says fiercely.

"It's possible," Dylan says. "It's really, really possible."

"You said it yourself; everything's fine. The baby looks good, and your checkup was fine. Don't talk yourself into shit that only has a basis in paranoia."

"I just," Dylan says. He has no idea how to finish that thought; he just holds on.

"Okay, hang on," Brinksy says. He wriggles his hand between them and pulls Dylan's phone out of his hoodie pocket. He taps at the screen, and a moment later, shoves it towards Dylan's ear.

"Babe," Mitch says warmly.

"I'm freaking out," Dylan blurts out. Because yeah, he has zero ability to pretend to be chill right now. "Aaron called; I have to tell the Yotes, and I'm losing my mind."

"Fuck," Mitch says with feeling. "Are you—no, okay. Is the rest of the team there yet?"

"Brinksy's here," Dylan says.

"Hey, Marns," Brinksy says. He's still wrapped around Dylan. "I got them."

"Good." Mitch says firmly. "Now remind my husband that he's got all of us, no matter what happens."

"He can't hear you," Dylan says. "You're not on speaker, and he's not that tall." It's a pretty weak chirp, but Mitch laughs and Brinksy grumbles.

"Well, you've got me," Mitch reminds him. "And there's my family, and your brothers, and Connor and Brinks. We'll do everything we can to help you, Dyls."

"I know," Dylan mumbles. He does; he's just not sure how that'll help if things go badly. He's not sure of much of anything at the moment.

"I know you, babe," Mitch says softly. "You won't give up. You'll get back out there, and you'll kick serious ass. Hey, just look at what your team did to mine _last night_."

Dylan laughs. It's a little watery, but whatever. "That's because we're better than you."

"Damn right!" Brinksy crows, even though he couldn't hear exactly what Mitch said.

"Okay, I changed my mind, Brinksy's not allowed," Mitch says, laughing. "Tell him he's my fill-in, but he has to keep his mouth shut or I'm asking a Raddysh."

"Nope. Like I said, he can't hear you." And Dylan has no intention of shutting down team rivalry this close to the end of the regular season.

"You're supposed to love me more," Mitch says, clearly pouting.

"Hockey was my first love," Dylan replies, "but you'll be my last."

"That's so sappy," Mitch says, laughing.

Brinksy's not so kind. He pushes away, a horrified look on his face. "Okay, you're clearly feeling better, so I'm leaving before the phone sex," he announces, loudly enough for Mitch to hear.

"Don't be ridiculous," Dylan says. "We don't have time for phone sex before we have to be at the rink."

" _Why_ am I friends with you?" Brinksy yells over his shoulder as he leaves... and forgets all about his phone, which is innocently sitting in the middle of Dylan's floor.

"I'm doing okay," Dylan promises when Brinksy leaves. "Go get ready for the game so you can trounce the 'Hounds." He bends over to get Brinksy's phone. "I'm gonna go take a half-naked selfie and make it Brinksy's lock screen. I'll text you his face later."

Mitch laughs. "Whatever makes you feel better. Say goodnight to the speck for me."

"I love you," Dylan says.

"I love you too," Mitch replies. "Both of you." He hangs up and texts _I love you two?_

Dylan's going to chirp him mercilessly for the dad joke the next time they talk. But first, he's got a date with Brinksy's phone.

-0-

The less said about the Kitchener game, the better. Dylan's distracted and Brinksy's distracted; it rubs off on the team, and they barely scrape a win. Coach almost looks relieved that Dylan's missing the next game for his trip to New York; Dylan's just glad that he's going to have a few days away from everything. Ryan's apartment might be tiny and way too full of blue and orange, but Dylan cannot wait to get there. Dylan's trying to get used to blue and orange anyway, for Connor's sake. It'll be good practice, but he's glad he packed his Oilers sweats. Ryan makes great sad faces.

"Hey, kiddo," Ryan says when he picks Dylan up from the airport. "Good flight?"

Dylan shrugs. "A lot better than the bus, but the bathroom's still gross."

"That's a universal truth," Ryan says. "So I have food at my place, but it's definitely all hockey food. If you want something else, we should stop on the way back."

"Actually I'm feeling a little sick," Dylan admits. "The bathroom was _really_ gross; I think someone got motion sickness."

"Nasty," Ryan declares. "Okay, home it is, and you can take a nap. Or a shower. Or, hey, both, if that's what you want."

"Maybe both," Dylan says. Showering the plane smell off will probably help with the nausea, and naps are his new best friends. He lets Ryan take his bag and follows him to the car.

He shoots Mitch, Connor, and Brinksy a quick _made it, with ryan_ text before he leans back against the headrest and dozes. He wakes up to half a dozen texts, and a snap from Brinksy that he's wary about opening.

_is this something you want my brother seeing bc chances are good he's gonna,_ he texts Brinksy.

Brinksy sends back a series of exclamation points.

_also he lives with john tavares,_ Dylan adds, because embarrassing Brinksy is the sport of kings.

_PICS OR IT DIDN'T HAPPEN,_ Brinksy texts back. _also dude no don't_

Okay, now Dylan _has_ to open it.

_i swear to god its my elbow!!!_ Brinksy says.

Dylan blinks at what definitely appears to be Brinksy's ass on his screen. Ryan looks over, just like Dylan figured he would, and makes a disgusted noise. "Dude. Could you not sext in my car?"

_ryan says stop being a homewrecker_ Dylan replies, snickering. "Brinksy thinks he's fucking hilarious," he says. "It's his elbow. Because he's secretly twelve."

_I'm gonna go die now_ , Brinksy says. _hope ur happy._

_screencapped it,_ Dylan texts back. _gonna show tavares._

_put in a good word for me. tell him my real ass looks way better._

Dylan laughs as they pull into Ryan's parking garage. _sure thing bro. got ur back._

He hums _Baby Got Back_ to himself as he heads upstairs with Ryan.

"Do I want to know?" Ryan asks.

"Brinksy's resigned to his fate. And I think he has a crush on your roommate."

"God help us," Ryan mutters. "Another one."

" _I_ don't have a crush on your roommate," Dylan points out as Ryan unlocks the door.

Ryan snorts. "You don't have eyes for anyone but Mitch. Or maybe Connor, if you were single."

"Yeah," Dylan agrees. Ryan pushes the door open and waves him in. "But that supports my point. I definitely don't have a thing for your roommate."

John Tavares blinks at them. "That's good, I guess?" he says, holding out a beer.

Dylan blinks back at him. Somehow, he'd never pictured that this would be his life: having to turn down a beer he's not legally allowed to purchase for himself when the guy handing it to him is one of the best hockey players in the game. "Uh," he tries. "No thanks?"

Behind him, Ryan groans. "JT, when I said you didn't have to get beer, what I meant was _don't get beer_."

"What?" Tavares says. "He's legal in Canada, and we're all Canadian here."

"I can't drink," Dylan replies. "I'm on injured reserve."

"And you're here," Tavares says slowly. "Which means that you're not under supervision." His eyes widen as soon as he stops talking. "Wait. Lower body, Ryan said."

Dylan's heart is pounding in his chest, but he manages a sickly smile. "Yeah, well. Thanks for the offer, but it's not good for either of us."

Tavares takes back the beer he was holding out and starts drinking it.

"I know the feeling," Ryan says. "Dyls, c'mon. Guest room is this way." He makes Dylan promise to _try_ not to embarrass him in front of his captain and then leaves Dylan to make friends with the bed.

Dylan's out like a light in no time at all, and he doesn't wake up until Ryan gently shakes his shoulder. "Hey, man," he says quietly. "I guess you need the sleep? But you also need food, and that's happening shortly." He paused. "And I Googled, so don't tell me you don't need the food."

Dylan rubs his hands over his face. "No, I definitely need the food. Cheese is the enemy, though."

"I remember," Ryan says, making a face. He'd ordered a pizza when he was staying in Erie, and Dylan had made him eat it in the backyard. It's literally the only food that makes Dylan feel sick; he doesn't want it anywhere near him.

"We've got pasta and chicken," Ryan says. "And fish, but you're not supposed to eat that. JT says we can break diet and order Chinese tonight since you're here, if that sounds good." He looks so hopeful.

Dylan's mouth waters at the thought of spring rolls, but he's not sure he can wait for delivery. "Can we get Chinese tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's game day," Ryan says, shaking his head. "Monday, probably, if that's what you want for your birthday dinner." He looks at Dylan closely. "Or we can order it tonight, and you can eat a bunch of the pretzels I was warned I needed to buy before you got here."

Dylan breaks into a smile. "My precious."

"Hey, JT, call in the Chinese order," Ryan hollers down the hall. "And get those pretzel sticks out of the cabinet, eh? And then move out of the way, because Dyls is going to plow right through you if you don't."

Weirder things have happened to him, Dylan thinks later when he's piling through a mountain of food in front of _John Tavares_. He can't think of any examples right now, but he's sure this can't be the single weirdest.

"So, um, you're—" Tavares says, gesturing at Dylan's stomach.

Okay, no, awkward small talk with Tavares wins.

"Pregnant," Dylan supplies. "Did Ryan not, like, confirm that while I was sleeping?"

"No, he did, I just... never met a guy who's going through with it before." Tavares clears his throat, looking embarrassed. "Not an active player, anyway."

Dylan swallows his bite of fried rice. "Yeah, well." He doesn't want to bring up all the details about his situation with the Yotes, not until he knows what's going on, but at the same time he badly wants a little guidance from a veteran player. "I guess we'll see about that, eh?"

Tavares frowns. "You're quitting? I thought... never mind; it's none of my business."

"No," Dylan says forcefully. "Jesus, no. I just..." He shrugs. "I'm not sure what my status is right now. With, uh, my team."

Tavares stares at him for a minute, and then he picks up his beer. "Contract negotiations are the fucking worst."

"Amen," Ryan agrees. "So, you're in the box for the games while you're here, as long as you still want to go. Anything else you want to do while you're in the big city?"

"Can we go to the NHL Store?" Dylan asks. "I want to take a picture of me swooning in front of the huge fucking poster they have of Davo."

Tavares snorts and takes a sip of his beer. "So the father is McJesus? Good luck with the media, kid."

"Oh my god, no," Dylan says. "He's my best friend and making fun of him will never not by my favourite part of the day, but that's all." He hesitates a little. "It's, uh. You watched the draft?"

Tavares raises one eyebrow really, really slowly.

"Mitch Marner," Dylan says quickly. "Drafted right after me, to the Leafs." He holds up his hand and waggles it so his ring catches the light. "We got married last month."

Tavares chokes on his beer.

"You seriously didn't tell him anything while I was sleeping, did you?" Dylan asks, turning to Ryan.

"I didn't know if you wanted to tell people!" Ryan protests. "Once it's out there, it's out there."

Dylan sighs. "I mean, thanks. I guess I'm a little too used to the idea that my private life is going to be everyone's business before the kid is born."

"No," Tavares says firmly, "you should start taking control of the narrative now. Hire a publicist. This is going to blow up bigger than you can imagine, especially if the other father ends up playing for the Leafs."

A publicist actually sounds like a good idea; Dylan wonders if that's something he should bring up with Aaron. Maybe that's already part of Aaron's plan.

"I stay out of the spotlight by being boring," Tavares continues. "You're not going to have that luxury, because there's nothing boring about what you're trying to do."

Dylan laughs a little weakly. "At least it's me and not Mitch," he says. "I mean, it's going to be big, but at least I'm not the Leafs prospect."

"But you're close friends with Connor McDavid," Tavares points out. "They're going to look for any angle they can get."

Dylan finds himself nodding. Toronto media is aggressive, for sure, but Tavares lives in _New York_. That has to be worse, sometimes. He's also a first-overall pick; he knows what media pressure is like.

"I'll talk to my agent about the publicist," Dylan says. "And he'll talk to Mitch's agent. They've got a phone tree thing now." Then he glances at Ryan, who's looking shell-shocked. The Strome family hasn't ever had anything like this level of scrutiny before; it's going to take a lot of getting used to, for all of them. "Maybe you should talk to your people too, Ry."

Ryan shakes himself a little. "Yeah," he says. "And Matty's people, too." He hesitates. "I think Mom and Dad have to be a part of that."

"Just remind them not to give any interviews," Dylan says tightly. "Otherwise I don't care." He gets up and walks out of the room so he won't lose it in front of John fucking Tavares. He heads back to the guest room and plugs his phone in. He pulls up the ultrasound video and lays down, watching as his baby squirms around.

Dylan's not alone for long before the door opens, and Ryan comes in. "Hey," he says quietly. "Sorry."

Dylan shrugs. "It's good advice. I'm just sorry this whole mess is going to fall on you and Matt, too."

"It's not a _mess_ ," Ryan says fiercely, coming over to sit next to Dylan. He opens his mouth to add to that, but Dylan's phone starts making the fast _whoosh whoosh whoosh_ of the baby's heartbeat, and Ryan freezes. "Is that," he breathes.

"Yeah," Dylan says, tilting the phone up. "Come see."

He starts the video over again and hands the phone to Ryan, who stares at it with his mouth hanging open a little bit. He replays it when it finishes, and when he's seen it twice he meets Dylan's eyes. "That is not a mess," he says. "That's the hockey speck. That's your kid."

Dylan buries his face in Ryan's shoulder, because he can't take looking at his face right now. "Thanks," he whispers. He's going to cry if Ryan says anything else.

"That's going to be my niece, or my nephew," Ryan continues. "I'd do anything for them."

"Ry," Dylan chokes out. "I'm gonna make your shirt a fucking mess if you don't shut up."

Ryan laughs. "I got changed while you were asleep, so this is a pajama shirt. I have it on good authority you need a body pillow. "

"As long as you're prepared," Dylan says, turning so he can tuck himself against Ryan.

Ryan restarts the video, and Dylan falls asleep with his baby's heartbeat in his ears.

-0-

It's actually kind of a pain in the the ass to get to the NHL Store; for some reason, Dylan had never actually realised how long it takes to get from Brooklyn to Manhattan. They get on a bus, then take the subway, then switch subway trains, and it's still a ten-minute walk once they're finally above ground again. It's totally worth it, though; there's a photo of Connor plastered to one wall that's easily fifteen feet tall. Dylan poses in front of it with his hands clasped over his chest and makes the cheesiest face possible for his photo op.

It's a pretty cool store even beyond the gold mine of material it's giving him on Connor; Dylan spends a while looking through all of the tiny Lego hockey players before deciding that, yeah, he's definitely going to end up with a whole rink and teams made up of players from all over the league, once he's settled somewhere.

"Hey Ryan, look! He can't break anyone's limbs like this." Dylan turns around with a tiny Dion Phaneuf figure in his hand, but Ryan's disappeared. He sets the figurine back down and goes to hunt for his brother. Surprise surprise, because he hasn't stopped talking about the speck all morning, Ryan's in the baby section.

"I'm getting one of _everything_ ," Ryan whispers, clearly awed. "I don't even know what this is, but you need it." He reaches out to touch what Dylan is pretty sure is some sort of pajama... sleeper... thing, emblazoned with the Isles' logo.

"Sure, Ryan," Dylan placates him. "Just don't send it to me until I'm settled in Toronto, okay?"

Ryan glances up at him. "Toronto?"

"Where Mitch is going to be starting in September," Dylan says, because he believes 100% that Mitch is going to get called up for prospect camp and he's going to stay up. "And the baby's due at the start of October, so we'll be where Mitch is for as long as we can."

"Oh, wow," Ryan says. He's still petting the baby sack thing. "I don't even know how I didn't think of that before right now. Are you guys, like, moving in together?"

Dylan cracks up laughing. "Yeah, Ryan, I'm moving in with my husband before I give birth to _our baby_." Shit like this is why Connor is going to be godfather.

"Shut up," Ryan groans. He grabs a bunch of the Isles' baby stuff and heads for the counter. "I'm getting you so much crap, by the way. Isles baby."

Dylan scowls at him. When Ryan comes back with his loot, Dylan grabs him by the arm and drags him into an aisle. "It's coming out of my body," he hisses. "It'll be team baby of wherever I end up playing."

Ryan gives him a weird look. "Uh. Did baby brain make you forget who owns your rights?"

Dylan doesn't mean to squeeze Ryan's arm harder, but Ryan jerks back. Dylan closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Anything could happen," he mutters.

Ryan looks like he wants to argue. "Let's get Starbucks and you can tell me what the hell is going on."

Dylan punches Ryan in the arm. "We're in the NHL Store, and you're a New York NHL player. _In the New York store_."

"So we shouldn't go to the Starbucks that's literally a part of the store is what you're saying," Ryan says. "That's fine. We're close to Bryant Park; we can go to Blue Bottle and get drinks that are actually good."

"Now _that_ sounds like a good idea," Dylan says dryly. "Maybe there's hope for you in the godfather cup-race yet."

Ryan snorts. "Like hell there is," he says, pushing Dylan towards the front entrance of the store. "I can't think of anything I could do that would make you tell Davo you're taking that away from him."

"Mitch and I don't have any sisters, so godmother is up for grabs," Dylan points out.

"Hell yes," Ryan crows. "It's mine. Dibs. Tell Brinksy I will fight him."

"I'm pretty sure if you get your roommate to sign something for him, he'll gladly relinquish his claim," Dylan says.

When they get to Blue Bottle, Ryan gives him a _look_ and gets out his wallet to pay for their drinks. "You're not paying for anything else this weekend," Ryan says when they sit at the counter. "Got the speck to worry about."

"Bribery," Dylan says approvingly. "Nice. I accept."

Ryan waits until their drinks are served and the barista's started making noise again before he asks, "So what's wrong?"

Dylan adds a mental tally mark to Ryan's brownie points, for making sure they won't be overheard. He stares into the foam at the top of his cup and shrugs a little. "The Yotes were leaning on my agent, asking for details about my mystery injury. He said our best chance at making it seem like I'm not hiding anything would be to just tell them, even though I originally wanted to wait."

Ryan leans in close. "What happened?"

"Aaron told them before I came here," Dylan says. "I guess we'll find out this week what they're going to do about it."

"It's the weekend," Ryan replies, reaching out to sling an arm around Dylan's shoulders. "Don't worry about it. It's Sunday. Nobody does shit on Sunday."

Dylan just ignores him and takes a sip of his drink. Everybody knows the NHL doesn't sleep in on the weekend.

"Speaking of not working on the weekend, though, we should head out soon," Ryan says after a moment. "We can walk to the Garden from here, and I brought all my ID, so we should be able to just go right in." Dylan's caught off-guard when Ryan drags him into a sideways hug. "Come on, lighten up. It's your birthday tomorrow, and I got you box seats for my game because I'm the best godmother you ever did see."

"Because you were afraid someone in the stands would sneeze on me and it would cause, like, incredible amounts of damage to the speck," Dylan corrects.

"Which makes me the best godmother," Ryan asserts.

When they walk to the Garden Ryan keeps an arm around Dylan's shoulders, buffeting him from New York foot traffic. There's a lot of it; Dylan grew up in and around Toronto, and he still can't really believe how many goddamned people are in Manhattan. And New Yorkers definitely live up to their reputation of being sidewalk steamrollers. At least half a dozen people bounce off Ryan's shoulder and glare at him like it's _his_ fault they assumed the guy with a hockey body would get out of their way. Dylan's pretty sure if he were walking by himself he would've been knocked into traffic by now.

It's not bad out for March, which is nice for a change; the walk isn't miserable, and when Ryan flashes his ID at the Garden they're waved right in. Ryan honest-to-god _escorts_ Dylan to the box and then goes to get ready. If he'd known the 'godmother' thing would result in this level of hilarious intensity, Dylan would've invited Ryan to the wedding after all. Maybe gotten Ryan to tie his tie for him, or give him a pedicure. He can definitely milk it for the rest of his pregnancy, though.

Dylan goes to get himself a bottle of water and has to duck around a giant dude who turns out to be Johnny fucking Boychuk.

Boychuk's arm is in a sling—right, shoulder injury; that fucking sucks—and he's struggling to open his own drink.

"Yo," Dylan says, holding his hand out and waggling his fingers. He breaks the seal on the cap and hands the bottle back.

"Thanks," Boychuk replies, taking a swig of water and then putting the bottle down so he can hold out his good hand.

"Dylan Strome," Dylan says, shaking it. "I'm visiting Ryan for a few days, so here I am."

"Nice to meet you, Dylan," Boychuk says. And then he frowns, and picks up Dylan's hand. His left hand, because of Boychuk's injury. "You're a little young to be married," Boychuk observes.

Dylan grimaces. "Nineteen tomorrow. So yeah, I guess. But when you know, you just know."

"Well, congratulations," Boychuk says. "How long?"

Dylan smiles. "Only a month. We, uh. We got married when I was put on IR. It was nice not having to wait until the off-season."

"I hear that," Boychuk says. "My wife and I squeezed our wedding in four years ago. Barely managed a honeymoon before I had to start training."

"We're waiting on the honeymoon thing," Dylan says. They haven't actually talked about it; there's a lot going on, and Dylan's not really bothered by them not going on vacation or whatever. "Summer, maybe. We'll see."

"Don't do anything too crazy," Boychuk advises. "And man, bring more condoms than you think you're gonna need. That's my advice."

Dylan chokes on his sip of water. "Uh, thanks?" This is so fucking surreal. He's in New York chatting with _Johnny Boychuk_ about how to cram your personal life into a hockey season.

Boychuk snorts. "We waited two years for our girls, but they easily could've been honeymoon babies."

Dylan can feel his face flush. "Uh. Yeah, that'd be... yeah." It'd be impossible, unless they take their honeymoon after the baby is born, but he doesn't need to tell Boychuk that. "So, uh, how are things going with your shoulder?"

The server comes over while Boychuk's talking about rehabilitation, and how much it sucks re-injuring yourself less than a month after a comeback. Dylan narrows his eyes at the seafood platter. "No thanks."

Boychuk goes dead silent. When the server's gone he clears his throat and says, "So. You're on IR too."

Dylan's heartbeat speeds up, and he glances around. There are a few people milling around the box, but they're nowhere near him and Boychuk. "Yeah," he says cautiously. "Lower body. I miss playing."

"I bet," Boychuk says. "Want a beer? Relax a little while you're watching the game?"

"Is this a test or something?" Dylan asks, trying not to panic.

Boychuk shakes his head, and lowers his voice. "Anything else you can't eat? My wife suddenly hated oranges. Made me throw out our juicer and get a new one."

Dylan takes a deep breath, and then another. "Cheese," he croaks out. "Uh. And nobody really knows, so..."

"No problem." Boychuk waves off another server, who's carrying a plate of cheese and crackers.

"Thanks." Dylan takes a measured sip of his water and sternly tells himself to calm the fuck down.

"So, I hear we have a special guest," a booming voice says behind him.

Dylan drops his bottle and it splashes water all over his shoes. Boychuk reaches past him to shake hands with... oh great, the Isles' GM.

"Hi," Dylan says weakly. He pastes on his draft-night smile and holds out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Snow."

_Garth fucking Snow_ smiles back at him. "I used to be a player, Dylan. You don't have to talk to me like I'm Bettman." He reaches out and shakes Dylan's hand. "Congrats on the draft. We wish you could've dropped a little, of course, but we didn't draft until number sixteen, and you're far too good for that."

Dylan blinks, fighting the urge to duck his head. "Um. Thanks."

Snow laughs. "So, anything in particular you're looking to see in the game tonight? Other than your brother scoring, obviously."

"Penalty kill," Dylan blurts out, because he's too used to sizing up his own team with Coach. He's losing the ability to turn it off.

Boychuk elbows him gently. "Usually we don't like seeing that," he says. "Means someone on the ice fucked up."

Dylan nods along with him. "One of my players took stupid risks at the last World Juniors. Coach has me working on helping him get his head together. But sometimes penalties are completely worth taking, and you know that's true."

Snow laughs. "How exactly are you working on getting a teenage boy not to lose his temper?"

"Well," Dylan says, a grin spreading across his face, "it involves goalie pads and maximum annoyance…"


	11. Chapter 11

Dylan wakes up on his birthday and shrieks. There are cold, dead eyes staring back at him where Ryan should be.

"Oh my god," Ryan says from a few feet away, bursting into laughter. "Sorry, sorry!"

"What the fuck," Dylan yells, shoving blindly until he's alone in his bed. Ryan is half-collapsed against the door, laughing too hard to stand. "What the hell is _that_?"

"Your fucking mascot," Ryan wheezes between bursts of hysterical giggles.

There's some thumping sounds from outside of Dylan's room, and a moment later, Tavares appears, still looking half-asleep. "Everything okay?" Then he catches sight of the brown, furry lump on the floor and flails backwards. "Jesus Christ, is that a mutant rat?"

Ryan doubles over, wheezing. "It's an otter," he manages.

"Did you _steal an otter_ from Prospect Park Zoo?" Tavares yells.

Dylan leans over the side of the bed and warily pokes at it. "It's stuffed," he reports.

"Did you _kill an otter and have it stuffed_ ," Tavares says, tone of his voice rising.

Dylan raises both eyebrows. He's used to Tavares deploying a strict monotone with the media. Then again, he's wearing washed-out boxers and an old Oshawa Generals tee, and his hair looks like a bird's nest. Dylan yelling probably woke him up. He feels a hysterical giggle of his own bubbling up in his chest: _John Tavares_ is in his pajamas freaking out over a stuffed otter.

"Go make coffee," Ryan says, wiping his eyes and shoving at Tavares. "It's a stuffed animal. A plushie thing. I bought it at a store; no real otters were harmed in the making of this fucking hilarious morning."

Dylan rubs his eyes to wake himself up. "Why is this in my life?" he asks, gesturing at the floor.

Ryan grins. "Body pillow. Well, otter pillow."

Dylan rolls over again and looks down at it. It's actually kind of cute, now that it's not unexpectedly four inches from his face; it's huge, too. He could definitely curl up around it. "Thanks, Ryan. This is really great."

Ryan beams at him. "Want to eat a giant stack of pancakes and Skype Davo so we can find out who his mystery dude is?" He hums thoughtfully. "Or dudes. Is Davo speck's Uncle Orgy? I'm gonna call him Uncle Orgy."

"Wait, you think I didn't already figure that out?" Dylan scoffs as he gets out of bed. "It's like you don't know me at all. I'll eat the pancakes, though."

"You know and you didn't tell me?" Ryan demands. "I'm taking the otter back. You can't have it."

"Hey, JT," Dylan yells down the hallway. "Ryan says he's keeping the otter. He's gonna put it on the sofa."

"Like hell," Tavares yells back. "No. That thing is not living under my roof."

Dylan smirks at Ryan. "As if I'd betray the confidence of my baby's godfather."

Ryan makes a disgusted face and leaves. When Dylan wanders down the hallway he does thunk down a plate of pancakes, though, so Dylan figures he's pretty much forgiven. "We can Skype Davo in a little while anyway," he offers. "I said I'd call him today, and if we do it early enough he'll probably tell you before all his brain-to-mouth filters turn on."

Ryan fistpumps. "Mission: Trick Gossip Out Of Uncle Orgy is a go."

"Uncle _who_?" Tavares asks, then shakes his head immediately. "Don't tell me. What the fuck, Stromes?"

"We get that a lot," Dylan says, reaching out to pat Tavares' hand.

Tavares refills his mug with coffee and disappears, presumably to figure out how the hell this is his life. Dylan can relate.

The pancakes disappear in pretty short order. Dylan finger-combs his hair and calls it good enough before he and Ryan settle on Dylan's bed to Skype Connor.

"Stromer!" Connor says when he answers the call. "How have you been?"

Dylan rolls his eyes. "I saw you in person less than a week ago."

"You were 18 then," Connor says, grinning. "Now you're 19. Legit question."

"More importantly, how many Oilers are you oiling up, Uncle Orgy?" Ryan says, leering at the screen.

"What?" Connor squeaks, and Ryan starts laughing.

"Wait," Dylan says, squinting at the screen. He clicks to enlarge the video feed. "That's not your bedroom."

Ryan throws his head back and laughs. "Get it, Davo!"

"I'll call you back in half an hour," Connor says, and just as he hangs up, Dylan can hear someone he's betting money is Nugent-Hopkins call Connor's name.

Dylan stares at the dark screen for a while and then pitches over laughing.

"Oh my god," Ryan says, clutching Dylan's otter, still laughing. "This is the best day of my life."

"The day your most perfect little brother was born?" Dylan says dryly.

"You gave me the gift of you," Ryan says, "and also that look on Davo's face when he realised he picked up the call while he was _in someone else's bed_."

Dylan gapes for a minute and then he cracks up laughing too. "Oh my god, you're right. That is the best. I'm going to chirp him forever."

"He deserves it," Ryan says gleefully. "Also, d'you think we can embarrass him into telling me who it is, or is he going to clam up again?"

"If you keep accusing him of being Uncle Orgy, he'll probably tell you just to get you to stop," Dylan points out.

"I like it," Ryan says approvingly, and then he makes a face at Dylan. "Dude, go shower while Davo's making a hasty exit over in Edmonton. I know you're gonna want to call the husband, and your hair has seen better days." Dylan makes a goofy face at the mention of Mitch, he _knows_ he does, and Ryan makes a disgusted noise. "Go jerk off in the shower."

"It's your shower," Dylan singsongs before running down the hall into the bathroom and locking the door.

Dylan takes his time in the shower; he does jerk off, thanks, but Ryan's apartment has incredible water pressure and Dylan plans to take advantage of it as much as he can. He lets his head hang and rolls his shoulders, letting the water beat down on him, and it's honestly amazing. He keeps vague track of the time; about twenty minutes into his shower he figures he should get out, and he's back in his room and dressed when his phone lets him know Connor is calling back.

"Davo," Dylan coos. "Good to see you dressed."

"Shut up," Connor mumbles. He's already bright red, which bodes well.

"So who's the lucky dude?" Ryan asks, wiggling onto the bed beside Dylan. "Tell me, tell me, tell me."

"There's no lucky dude!" Connor blatantly lies.

Ryan nods seriously. "Oilers orgy. I understand; gotta spread the love around the team."

Taylor Hall shoves his head into frame. "Oh my god, Davo, what have you been saying about us?"

Ryan waves like this is totally a thing he planned. "Hey, Hallsy. Uncle Orgy here is telling us all about his extracurriculars, and why he answered his phone while in somebody else's bed this morning."

Taylor's grin can't be described as anything other than evil. "Uncle Orgy?" he asks, turning to face Connor. "Babe, where's the love for me?" And he leans in and plants a huge smacking kiss right on Connor's lips.

Connor's arms flail wide and he falls over backwards. Taylor catches him, smooth as fuck, and dips him low.

"No, stop!" Connor protests. "I have a boyfriend."

"Aw, baby," Taylor croons. "Nobody loves you like I do."

Connor facewashes him, and Taylor struggles for a moment before righting them both. "You lie," Connor says, flushed and grinning a little from the exertion. "There are definitely people who—" He stops, and this time the redness is definitely a blush.

Taylor makes chinhands. "Tell us more. You know _everything_ about me and Ebs."

"And whose fault is that?" Connor grumbles.

"Well, if it wasn't so much fun to make you go running off to Nuge's every time you see us in a room together," Taylor says reasonably, and Ryan clutches at Dylan's arm.

"Oh my god," he whispers as Connor approaches maximum blush. "Our little Davo is all grown up and fucking the life out of an injured teammate."

"Wait, you're fucking Nuge?" Taylor says, dropping his hands and blinking a few times. Then he grins. "Get it," he crows, holding his hand out for a fistbump.

"My sex life is really none of your business," Connor yells, and then they all hear a door slam in the background.

Taylor and Connor both look offscreen, and then Gazdic says, "You have a sex life?"

"I hate you all," Connor says darkly.

"Hey!" Taylor says, offended. "I told you about mine."

"I didn't ask you to!"

"No, but mine got you yours," Taylor says smugly. "So spill, rookie."

"How did yours," Gazdic says, then clearly connects the dots. He walks into the frame and peers at Connor. "Nuge? Really? Damnit, I was going to ask if I could escape the gay orgy by running away to Nuge's too. Schultzy's old room can't possibly be as gross as mine."

Connor turns bright red as he puts his hands on Hall and Gazdic and shoves them out of frame. "So. Since I last talked to you, _Dylan_ ," he emphasizes, "I got a boyfriend."

"Let me guess," Dylan says, settling in. "Nuge?"

-0-

Ryan gets a lot of amusement out of making Connor blush about Nuge, and then even more amusement about helping Connor turn the tables on Dylan and Mitch and the speck. He even urges Connor to record the video when Dylan starts getting misty-eyed.

"Oh man," Connor says. "I didn't send you the first one I made!"

"Do it," Ryan demands. "Do it now."

Dylan groans and resigns himself to a future of the two of them teaming up against him all the time. He's saved by his phone ringing, though. When he sees it's Aaron calling, he leaves Connor and Ryan to their love-in and steps out of the room.

He takes a deep breath before answering. "Hey, Aaron."

"Dylan, I'm sorry I don't have better news, but the Coyotes have made their decision," Aaron says, his voice soft.

"They," Dylan says faintly, leaning heavily into the wall. "What?"

Aaron sighs. "They're shopping your rights, and I think we both know why. I spent all morning talking to legal. We could probably fight it on discrimination grounds, but even if you won it would take months, and then you'd be playing for hostile management."

"So I'm done," Dylan says. He's shaking, and he's trying not to cry but he's probably losing that battle soon.

"God, no. You're not done. I'll fight like hell to get you a new deal, and once you're signed to a contract we can take this to the NHLPA." Aaron pauses and then adds, "If you're on board, that is."

"Who's going to take me?" Dylan asks. "I mean, what are the Coyotes even saying about me? They can't—it's not the truth. Who's going to look at the top prospect being dumped by his team less than a year after being drafted and think I'm anything other than a problem?"

"Other teams will see this for what it is," Aaron replies, raising his voice as if he can _hear_ the blood rushing in Dylan's ears. "They wait years for players to finish NCAA; this isn't any different."

"Hey," Tavares says, coming out of nowhere. "Is everything okay?"

"No," Dylan yells. He's gripping his phone so hard his fingers hurt. Ugh, fuck, he's probably not supposed to say anything until the Yotes make it official. But how is he supposed to keep this to himself?

"Take a deep breath," Tavares says, all captain all of a sudden. "Come on, living room, take a seat." He steers Dylan in the right direction and then shouts back down the hall. "Strome! Now!"

"I'm going to keep working on this, Dylan," Aaron says gently. "I'll let you know as soon as I know anything, okay?"

Dylan nods his head as he falls onto the sofa. It takes him a minute to remember Aaron can't see him.

"Is that your agent?" Tavares asks as Ryan comes skidding into the room. When Dylan nods, Tavares takes the phone. "This is John Tavares. Dylan's visiting me and his brother." He listens for a moment, then sighs. "Yeah, I got the basics. We've got him."

Ryan wraps his arms around Dylan while Tavares is still on the phone. "What happened? JT just started yelling. Connor's freaking out."

"It's Aaron," Dylan says numbly. "The Yotes—I'm." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm not playing there."

Ryan frowns. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, okay," Tavares says. "Thanks." He hangs up the phone and looks at Dylan and Ryan, and Dylan's never wondered what murderous rage would look like on Tavares' face before, but he's got his answer anyway. "From what I overheard, Arizona is shopping his rights. Because he's pregnant, but they'll say it's something else." He flexes his fingers. "Your agent didn't tell me anything, Dylan, but he wanted to make sure we were staying with you, and said to let you know he was going to do everything he could."

"They can't do that!" Ryan snaps. "It's against the fucking law."

"Ryan," Dylan says, clutching at his arm a little. He really needs everyone to not be _yelling_.

"I'll get you some water," Tavares volunteers.

"Ryan," Dylan repeats. "Did you leave Connor hanging?"

"I hung up," Ryan says. "I told him I'd call him when I knew what was wrong."

As if on cue, Dylan's phone rings again. He cringes away from it for a second, but forces himself to reach out and pick it up. Mitch's face smiles up at him from the screen.

"Happy birthday, babe," Mitch says when he answers.

Dylan makes a wounded noise.

"Dyls?" Mitch says. "What's up?"

Dylan just hands the phone over to Ryan. He tucks himself into Ryan's side and curls up as Ryan tells Mitch what's going on. Dylan hears more yelling come out of the phone's speaker, and he closes his eyes.

"Here," Tavares says quietly a moment later. When Dylan opens his eyes, Tavares is holding a glass of water and a few pretzel rods. "Come on, drink the water at least."

Dylan takes it and has a sip, his stomach twisting so much he almost retches. He knew this was a possibility, and Aaron had told him the Yotes weren't thrilled. But he'd thought that just this one weekend he could try to put it out of his mind.

Tavares sits down next to Dylan and coaches him through drinking half the glass of water. Ryan gets up and leaves the room after a minute, taking the phone with him, but Dylan stays on the sofa, eating pretzels one by one as Tavares hands them over. Tavares doesn't try to say anything, and Dylan's beyond grateful. He's not sure he could make his throat work right now.

It's a few more minutes before Ryan comes back into the room, still with the phone. "Hey," he says gently, sitting down next to Dylan. "Mitch wants to talk to you."

"Okay," Dylan croaks, holding out his hand. He waits a minute while Tavares beats a hasty retreat; the guy's probably more than hit his limit of drama for the day, and it's still early. Ryan sits right next to Dylan and pulls so Dylan's tucked against his chest.

"I love you," Mitch says when Dylan holds the phone up and just breathes into it for a minute. "I love you _so much_ , and you're gonna go somewhere amazing, somewhere that'll love you _and_ the speck."

"I'm not..." Dylan tries, but he chokes up. "Maybe that'll happen," he tries again, "but I need to start preparing myself in case it doesn't."

"No," Mitch says. "Babe. It's going to happen. You're so amazing, and teams are gonna be fighting over you."

"Or they'll forget about me after I miss two seasons and they have new prospects to fight over."

"Dyls," Mitch says, and he sounds so fucking sad. He sighs heavily. "If it happens that way, if the entire league is too fucking stupid to take you, then... then we'll figure it out. You and me."

Dylan's vision goes blurry and he has to swallow hard. "I know. It's not you I'm worried about."

"I don't love you because you play hockey," Mitch says. "And I'm not gonna suddenly stop if that's not on the table anymore."

"I know," Dylan repeats. "I love you too."

"And I love our kid," Mitch says. "And I love you even more for doing this with me."

The tears spill over, and Dylan presses his face into Ryan's collar. "This isn't a mistake," he manages to reply. "We didn't plan this but it's not—I wouldn't change it."

"Same," Mitch says instantly. "I wish I was there. I wish we could take a nap together."

"Play hockey. Kick some ass," Dylan replies. "Score a hat trick for the speck tomorrow."

"I will," Mitch says confidently. "And an extra one on top for you."

Dylan's far from okay, but talking to Mitch has helped a lot. "Tell Dvorak his future team sucks."

"I will," Mitch mutters. He clears his throat. "Actually, I have a question for you. Can I tell Domi? Because he's stuck there, and he's G+, and..."

"Fuck." Dylan rubs a hand over his face. "Yeah, go ahead. The poor bastard."

"Yeah," Mitch agrees. "Hey. This sucks hardcore, but it's gonna get better. Got it?"

"Got it," Dylan says, trying to inject some captain's confidence into his voice.

"Good," Mitch says. "I'll call you after practice, okay? Go have a donut for me."

"Maybe I'll have _two_ donuts," Dylan retorts. "One for you, one for the speck. Then I haven't even had a cheat day 'cause they weren't for me."

"It's your birthday," Mitch says. "Free cheat day. Go nuts; have three donuts."

"Happy birthday to me," Dylan says flatly. "Oh, by the way: before coffee, John Tavares is afraid of stuffed animals."

"What?" Mitch says gleefully. "Oh my god, tell me everything."

-0-

Dylan manages to sleep through his flight home the next day, even though it's short. He's exhausted from a full day of people being angry on his behalf. Brinsky looks tense when he gets Dylan from the airport, but he thankfully waits until all the doors are shut before opening his mouth. "Davo said something got seriously fucked up, but it's not the speck. What happened?"

"You won't have to listen to the howl to watch me play," Dylan replies, avoiding looking Brinksy in the eye.

"Mother _fuckers_ ," Brinksy hisses, slamming his hand against the steering wheel viciously. "They're giving up your rights?"

"Trying to trade them," Dylan corrects bitterly. "Why give me up for free if they can get some value out of me?"

Brinksy just sits there for a minute, staring out the front window slack-jawed.

"Can you just take me home?" Dylan asks after a minute. "I need a nap before I go to the rink."

Brinksy shakes himself out of his stupor. "Of course, sorry. Oh, and Connor said to get you this." He hands over a white pastry bag.

Dylan takes it cautiously. "What is it?"

"Open it," Brinksy says impatiently.

"Right," Dylan mutters. He starts laughing as he opens the bag; it's one of those giant bakery cookies, iced bright yellow with a huge, dopey smiley face on it. He's laughing so hard he has to put the cookie down and lean on the dashboard, head in his hands.

"Are you okay?" Brinksy says, his hand coming to rest on Dylan's back.

"Not really," Dylan says, laughing. "But thanks for the cookie."

"No problem." Brinksy pauses for a minute and then asks, "What's with the giant otter?"

Dylan cracks up all over again.

The drive back home is fine; Dylan waves a giant otter paw at the Murphys, who look mostly resigned to their new housemate, and Dylan crawls into bed and passes out like he hadn't slept through his flight. He wakes up with the otter's paw tucked under his neck. It's amazingly comfortable.

He's got an email from Aaron reminding him to talk to Coach and Andy about his contract situation; prospective teams will definitely reach out, so it's for the best if they both know what's going on. Dylan sighs and puts on the comfiest "I'm totally an adult, I swear!" pants he can find. He thinks about how he wants to phrase it the entire way over to the rink; he's pretty sure that they'll both be on his side, but it never hurts to be prepared. 

As soon as he walks inside, Coach grabs him and pulls him into one of the training rooms. "I had a call today from the Islanders," he says. "About you."

Dylan blinks. "Wow, that was fast. The Coyotes only said they were trading me yesterday." And there goes all his careful planning. Then his mind catches up to the details of that sentence. "Wait, did you say the Islanders? As in, the team my brother plays for, the _Islanders_?"

"Yes, those Islanders," Coach says dryly. "They said your name came up in trade talks, but you had been marked as having off-ice issues. They wanted my opinion." His expression hardens. "I told them you're one of the most dedicated, hard-working players I've ever had the pleasure of coaching, and that any 'off-ice issues' the Coyotes thought you had were a figment of their imagination."

Dylan swallows hard. "That's—thanks."

"It's the truth," Coach says. "What the Coyotes are doing to you is wrong, Dylan. On top of that, them not giving you a chance is a waste of one of the greatest hockey minds I've ever come across. And yes, I'm including Davo in that."

"I—" Dylan ducks his head, so Coach won't see him tearing up. "Hockey's a business, right?"

"A business that's centered around people," Coach says. "And even if you're looking at it as strictly business, this is a piss-poor business decision."

Dylan blinks rapidly, trying to hold it together until the meeting's done. Is this where Tavares disappeared to after lunch yesterday—to plead Dylan's case with management?

"Anyway, they said they'd put a formal request through for some game tape," Coach continues. "I don't doubt you'll have more than a few people beating down the doors around here, son. You let me know if you need anything, you hear?"

"Yes Coach," Dylan says automatically. This is the weirdest day. Cookie feelings and otter naps and now _this_.

Coach nods and walks out of the room, and Dylan grabs for his phone. _Did you know???_ he texts Ryan.

_????_ is Ryan's reply a few minutes later.

_Tell JT to text me omg_ , Dylan says. _Or wait just ask him if he knew, that's less weird._

_Wait did snow already call???_ Ryan texts back.

Before Dylan can answer, there's a text from an unknown number. _This is JT_ , it says. _I talked to Snow yesterday. He works fast when he really wants something._

Dylan's chest tightens, and he sucks in shallow breaths. He didn't tell Snow about the baby at the game; there wasn't any reason to. If the trade falls through because of his 'off-ice issues', the chances of his rights being picked up are even slimmer.

_I need you to call me_ , he texts to Aaron. Then he goes to the bathroom to throw up.

His phone rings as he's washing his mouth out. "Dylan," Aaron says. "What's going on?"

"The Islanders want my game tape," Dylan blurts out. "We have to tell them—I'm not waiting to disclose my 'injury' status this time."

"Okay," Aaron says. "They haven't gotten in touch with me, but I have to say, I'm not actually surprised. Do you want me to reach out to them now, or wait until they formally let me know they're interested?"

Dylan rinses and spits again; his mouth tastes disgusting. "Sooner is better. A couple of guys on the team already know I'm pregnant."

"Your brother," Aaron says. "And Tavares knows; I got that much yesterday. Is that all?" Dylan can hear him typing on the other end of the call. "I can request that the players not talk about it until you're ready, if I have a list."

"Boychuk. I talked to him at the game and he figured it out."

"Okay," Aaron says. Dylan envies him his calm. "I'll put a call in as soon as we hang up. Is there anything else going on?"

Dylan laughs. "Not that I know of, but apparently I'm out of the loop." Then he remembers what Tavares said. "Speaking of, uh, controlling who talks about this—do you happen to know a good publicist?"

"I can get you some names," Aaron says. "It's a good move. The sooner you get on top of your story, the more control you have over it."

Dylan can't help but agree; the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes how fucking lucky he is that the people he's told are loyal and haven't let anything leak to the press. But it's only a matter of time before someone slips up.

"I think that's it," Dylan says. "I guess let me know when you know something, eh?"

"Of course," Aaron assures him. "Thanks for the heads-up, Dylan."

Dylan laughs a little ruefully. "Thanks for not freaking out and dumping me," he replies.

Aaron laughs too. "I did all my freaking out a month ago. I don't have any concerns about your ability to navigate through this."

"Anymore," Dylan says, managing a small smile.

"You've got this," Aaron says. "And I'm here for the parts you need help with."

Dylan sighs. "Can you help me find pants?" He doesn't actually think that's in Aaron's job description, but he just had a meeting with Coach in yoga pants, for god's sake. If the Isles end up being interested in a trade, Dylan _has_ to have something better.

Aaron laughs. "Actually, yeah," he says. "I've been where you are, remember?"

Oh. This is why Aaron is the _best_.

"You won't believe me, because they look awful," Aaron adds. "But maternity pants have a lot of give, so you won't feel like there's sandpaper rubbing on your skin, and they're higher-waisted, so they won't hurt your belly button."

Dylan blinks a few times. "I honestly didn't even think of that," he says. "How did I not think of that?"

"They look _so_ ugly at the top," Aaron reiterates, "but you can cover that with a shirt and jacket." He pauses for a minute and then adds, " _Do not_ tuck in. The shirt buttons hurt."

Dylan winces. "Noted," he says. "And thanks."

"My pain is your gain," Aaron says cheerfully.

Dylan hangs up and goes to get ready. He has a team practice to loom over, and he needs to get his head together for tomorrow's game. One day at a time, he thinks. He just needs to take things as they come, and he'll be okay.

-0-

Dylan gets through the game because it's what he does, and he gets through telling the Murphys because they need a heads-up before news breaks about the Coyotes trading him. Mr. Murphy looks angry, but Mrs. Murphy is the one who goes on a long, swear-laden rant about the Coyotes' management. It doesn't help anything, but Dylan does feel a little better afterwards. They promise not to say anything if the media starts poking around, and remind him that they're on his side.

Dylan heads upstairs to crash and texts Mitch that he'll call tomorrow. He gets three heart emojis in reply, and then he falls asleep.

Ryan and Mitch are both going to be on the road a lot more than they're home over the next week, so Dylan makes plans to call Connor a lot. He calls before the Wild game, and Connor doesn't even hang up when Dylan chirps him about wanting to be _formally introduced_ to Connor's new honeybunny, especially since Connor seems to be at Nuge's far more than Hallsy's. Dylan's still somehow not expecting for Ryan Nugent-Hopkins to answer the next time he Skypes Connor, but honestly, he should have seen it coming.

"Uh. Hi." Dylan takes a minute to get his head together and then he _smiles_. "How's it going, honeybunny?"

"Pretty good, sweetie-pie," Nuge says without missing a beat. "How's the jellybean?"

Dylan snorts. He likes this guy already. He pats his stomach, which definitely doesn't look like it's holding a baby yet. "Good, good. Still not much bigger than an actual jellybean, but we're getting there."

Nuge ducks his head and a tiny smile sneaks across his face. It's fucking adorable.

"So," Dylan says. "You and Davo, huh?"

"I'm here for the inquisition," Nuge says, spreading his hands out in front of him. "I'm not picking Connor up at the airport for a couple more hours. I'm all yours."

Dylan claps his hands together. "Okay, I have a list, because the other members of the inquisition aren't here." Surprisingly, Eichel had been the most overprotective when Connor sent out a text to their draft class. He's definitely the Dad Friend in their group.

"Do I get to know who the other members of the inquisition are?" Nuge asks.

"Depends on your answers," Dylan says, leaning in a little. "I'm reserving judgment." He pulls up the group chat on his phone and scrolls back until he gets to Jack's initial reaction.

"Who do... wait, no, that's just ranting," he says, scrolling a little more. "Okay, here we go." He looks up and meets Nuge's eyes. "Why'd you fuck and run back at the start of the season?" That one's from Noah, because he'd been directly on-hand, in a manner of speaking, to pick up the pieces.

Nuge flushes, but he doesn't look away. "He was on more painkillers than I even knew what to do with. He'd've slept with anyone who was dumb enough to stick their hand down his pants; I didn't want to make it weird."

Dylan keeps his face carefully blank and scrolls down to one of the even tougher questions, rather than telling Nuge to fuck off. Connor doesn't _work_ that way; he doesn't use people.

"Wait," Nuge says before Dylan can move on. "That's why I did it. I figured out I fucked up, though. Did Connor tell you how we actually got together?"

"No," Dylan says cautiously. Mostly Connor had just blushed and smiled; Dylan had figured it had meant _and then we had a lot of sex_ and decided not to ask for details.

"I said I was sorry," Nuge says. "For everything but the sex. That I didn't get it, because I didn't actually know him back in November, you know?" He shrugs a little. "And then I got to know him, and I realised that I was, basically, a fucking idiot. There was a little grovelling."

Oh. Well, that's different. And hey, now Noah doesn't have to get Coyle to _talk_ to Nuge on Thursday, when the Oilers play the Wild.

"Did he do the goofy smile?" Dylan asks.

Nuge smiles broadly, and it's easily the most expression Dylan's ever seen on him, draft day footage included. "Yeah."

Okay, time to scroll down to Mitch's questions. Because if Jack is the Dad Friend and Noah is the friendly-until-you-piss-him-off older brother, Mitch is definitely the quietly-excited aunt. (Dylan tried to argue that he's totally not the Mom Friend, but they all just laughed at him.) "What are you going to do when the season's over?"

Nuge covers his face with his hands, but Dylan can see him turn bright red anyway. "With the kind of money we make it's not that far between Vancouver and Toronto."

"Have you guys actually talked about it?" Dylan presses. "Because Connor sometimes gets weird ideas if you assume things but don't actually use your words."

"We talked a lot, after Hanifin almost took my head off." Nuge shudders. "Don't mess with blueliners, man."

"Hanny's good like that," Dylan says pleasantly.

Nuge drops his hands and takes a deep breath. "Seriously, though, if things are still good? He wants me to meet his family in, like, July. Six month anniversary thing." The tiny smile comes back.

"Well," Dylan says. He's not shocked; Connor's family means a lot to him. "Don't fuck it up."

"I'll try not to," Nuge promises. "Tell me more about the kid, though. Connor's got half the team convinced he's secretly the dad, the way he keeps talking about it."

"He's definitely not," Dylan says. "And, I don't know, there's not a lot to tell yet? It's... really small. And it likes pretzels and Skittles."

"And it's already a genius hockey player," Nuge adds, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh my god. Tell me _everything_ Connor's been saying," Dylan demands. It's always a good idea to get as much gossip on Connor as he can.

Nuge grins. "I'll trade you," he says. "Oilers Connor stories for Otters Connor stories."

Dylan doesn't even hesitate. "Deal. Okay, first of all, you don't want to sit next to him on road trips. He drools in his sleep."

"Too late," Nuge says, shaking his head. "I just travel with an extra blanket, now."

Dylan coos at him. "True love."

Nuge blushes all the way up to his hairline.

"Holy shit," Dylan says, staring a little. "Have you—look, okay, not my business if you've told him or not. Just—be really, really sure." Connor's not the kind of person who does anything halfway.

Nuge tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. "I was waiting until I was totally done with painkillers. We don't need to have _that_ misunderstanding twice."

"That was a while ago, though," Dylan points out.

"Okay, but…" Nuge sighs, and blushes even harder. "I don't want to just blurt it out in the locker room either."

Dylan bites his lip and resists the urge to make kicky feet, mostly by reminding himself he'd end up knocking his laptop onto the floor. "You should, uh," he says, trying to keep himself from sounding too excited for them. "You should both get tested, if you haven't already." He gestures at himself. "Let me be the story right now."

"Oh, fuck yes," Nuge agrees. "I mean, there's no fucking way I'd do that to Connor's career right now." Then he grimaces. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, got it," Dylan says, shrugging. He doesn't want to think about his career right now. "Just get tested, okay? Use protection, go on birth control, whatever."

Nuge nods along. "Definitely. I'm not taking any chances with him."

Jesus, and Dylan thought he and Mitch were adorable. His brain screeches to a halt as it rewinds and plays back what Nuge said: he wouldn't do it _right now_. But Nuge has heard Connor going on about Dylan's kid and he's... curious? Not scared? "So when you say 'not now'..." he says.

"I don't know," Nuge says, going red again. "I... yeah, I mean, maybe in the future. If we can."

Fuck it; Dylan can't help himself. He sets the laptop on the floor, turned away so the camera can't pick him up, and makes kicky feet. Connor is _in love_ with a guy who's crazy about him.

"Uh, Stromer?" Nuge says. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," Dylan says. He hugs his otter tightly for a second before leaning over to get his laptop. "Sorry, I had—a thing. Everything's fine."

They talk a little more about Connor, and Nuge laughs about the stupid shit the Otters got up to after they lost the Championship to Oshawa. He somehow hadn't seen the video of Connor swearing, so Dylan finds it on YouTube and shares the wealth.

The whole conversation is actually really nice. Dylan feels a lot better about Connor's life choices, now that he's uncovered Nuge's dry, funny side and well-hidden squishy romantic heart. They make a pact to call each other disgusting pet names in front of Connor, and Dylan wishes Nuge luck for his first game back tomorrow before he ends the call. 

Then he realises he hasn't thought about the mess with the Coyotes for at least an hour, which is kind of a miracle. Their group text is _so_ getting a series of thumbs-up emojis about Connor's A+ taste in dudes. Would boyfriend-in-law again.

-0-

The next week passes in a blur of increasingly-desperate games as the Otters keep pushing towards the postseason. They hadn't been able to pull out a Championship win for Connor's final year, but they seem determined to get one for Dylan this year even though he can't play.

"Duh," Brinksy says when Dylan brings it up. "We're gonna fill it up with pretzels and give you a giant snack bowl."

Dylan snorts. His new publicist would _love_ it if a picture like that leaked before she's done helping him prepare a statement about his _off-ice issues_. "You do know that salt damaged the Stanley Cup, right?"

"That's why God made paper towels," Brinksy says sagely. "Relax. We've got it under control."

They kinda _do_ have it under control, is the thing. The Otters have adjusted to Dylan's absence, just like they adjusted when Connor left. They're going to storm into the playoffs this year. Dylan almost feels bad for the Knights, but they're a great team too, and ending the regular season by playing against them twice is going to be tough.

Dylan is just about to warn Brinksy against jinxing them by making too many plans for the Cup when his phone rings. A quick glance at the screen tells him it's Tavares. Dylan clutches his phone to his chest when Brinksy tries to see who it is, and when he ducks out of the room to answer he's followed by a chorus of chirps.

"Hey," he says. "What's up?"

"I wanted to let you know," Tavares says. "Stromey—uh, Ryan. He says you don't get Sportsnet in Erie, and I was just streaming it."

"I'm not in Canada," Dylan points out. "What's on Sportsnet?"

"You," Tavares says bluntly.

Dylan freezes. "What about me?"

Tavares makes a disgusted noise. "They're speculating about your supposed 'off-ice issues.' That you think you're too good for Juniors. The usual bullshit they make up when they can't get a direct quote from their target."

"They know I'm being traded," Dylan says, leaning against the wall. "How the fuck?"

"Someone at the Yotes must've talked. Ryan's yelling about it right now with his agent. I'm just hoping he doesn't try to get a flight to Arizona."

"He keeps his passport under his socks," Dylan replies "Even when he's on the road."

"I'll get it," Tavares promises. "But call your agent, okay? And let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Thanks for the heads-up," Dylan says. He can only imagine how shitty it would've been if the media blindsided him with this at the London game; Mitch probably would've stepped in and punched someone.

"Of course," Tavares says. "Good luck."

Dylan hangs up and calls Aaron, but the line's busy so he leaves a message and calls his publicist. She's mortified that she missed the story.

"I'm so sorry," Sylvie says. "We can release the statement that you and I have prepared tomorrow, but..."

"But?" Dylan asks.

"But I think it would be best if we secured an interview," Sylvie says. "We release the statement tomorrow with the promise that you'll give your side of the story on a certain date."

Dylan swallows hard. "I should call Mitch and let him know we're moving things up."

"Yes," she says. "I'll get in touch with your agents and we'll set something up. Your seasons are over soon, correct?"

"Yeah."

"I'll get something scheduled for the break between then and your playoffs," she says. "I'll let you know when it is, and we'll find a time when we can all talk about what to say, how to present yourselves, all of that."

"Okay. Thanks, Sylvie." Dylan has the feeling he's going to be saying that word a lot in the coming weeks.

He hangs up and take a deep breath before heading back into the locker room. Marchy wolf-whistles, but it cuts off abruptly as someone elbows him, probably at the look on Dylan's face.

"I will _drive to London _," Brinksy starts, but Dylan holds up a hand.__

__"I'm really sorry I didn't tell you guys earlier, but I wanted to wait until the break." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and puts on Captain Voice. "The Coyotes are trading my rights. I don't know where yet."_ _

__"The _fuck_ ," Darren says in the silence that follows. "Because of the speck?"_ _

__"I mean," Dylan says, shrugging a little. "Officially, no, but..." Officially they're _concerned_ about his level of maturity and responsibility. Officially they have doubts about his ability to handle the pressure of the NHL, given his _off-ice issues_ and the way they're already interfering with his playing._ _

__"I can still drive to London," Brinksy says darkly._ _

__"Killing my husband isn't going to make my supposed off-ice issues look better," Dylan says dryly. "Anyway, I wanted to give you all a heads-up so you know what you're no-commenting if anyone asks."_ _

__"Fuck driving to London," Taylor mutters to Brinksy. "Let's fly to Arizona."_ _

__Dylan points at both of them. "No," he says sternly._ _

__"Not until after playoffs," Darren adds, which isn't exactly helpful._ _

__"Guys," Dylan says helplessly. "Please don't do anything that's going to hurt your draft chances." He knows better than to ask them not to defend his honour. Then he catches Darren's eye and shakes his head, because Darren doesn't have that threat hanging over him. "Or your chances of getting signed as a free agent," he adds. "Take this and use it to kick Owen Sound's ass tomorrow."_ _

__"Hell yeah we're gonna kick their asses," Brinksy yells. "Right, boys?"_ _

__The team all cheer, and pour out of the locker room for practice._ _

__Taylor stops at the door and taps Dylan's arm with his stick. "I will drive to London if you need me to," he says solemnly._ _

__"This isn't any more Mitch's fault than it is mine," Dylan points out. "And if you guys hurt him I'll cry on everything you love."_ _

__"If it's in the game," Taylor starts._ _

__"If it's part of the game, check him," Dylan says. "If it's you using the game to hurt him because you think I won't notice, I'll puke in your skates." Taylor looks like he still wants to argue, so Dylan brings out the big guns. "I love him. And if this is the end of my career, I need him."_ _

__"This isn't—"_ _

__"Don't make promises you have no control over," Dylan says._ _

__Taylor raises his chin; he looks so _young_ in his stubbornness. "It's not fair."_ _

__"I know," Dylan says. "Trust me, I know."_ _

__Taylor almost looks like he's going to pout, but then he ducks in and gives Dylan a quick hug. "We're gonna win," he says. "For you." Then he pulls back and hesitates with his hand hovering over Dylan's stomach. "For both of you."_ _

__"I'm gonna cry on you," Dylan chokes out. "Just go fucking practice, T-Rads, oh my god."_ _

__Taylor interprets that as permission, and pats Dylan's not-really-there-yet bump. Dylan sniffles, and Taylor looks up at him quickly, then beats a hasty retreat. When he's gone Dylan rubs at his eyes and takes a breath. Somehow he keeps managing to forget that no matter how badly things go, he has a team of ridiculous people who love him at his back._ _

__Speaking of people who are on his team, he really needs to call Mitch. He's got a game tonight, but if news about Dylan is out there, Mitch is going to find out sooner or later, and it's probably best if it comes from Dylan. After Mitch he'll have to try Aaron again, and by then Connor'll probably be freaking out too. Matt has a break until the day after tomorrow, so Dylan just hopes someone's talking him out of doing anything stupid._ _

__He laughs to himself and shakes his head. It's tough being the centre of everyone's attention. He should probably get used to it, though. It's not like the media attention is going to get any easier from here on out._ _


	12. Chapter 12

Sylvie releases Dylan's statement the following afternoon and advises Dylan not to answer any calls from phone numbers he doesn't recognise. "Just play it safe," she warns. "Anyone legitimate will come through Aaron or me."

It's sound advice; Dylan has a game to prepare his team for. He'd spent half of last night convincing Mitch not to get on a plane from Flint to Erie, so he doesn't have the energy to deal with the press anyway. He sends out a text to anyone who might need to reach him that he's turning his phone off, and to call the Murphys' land line if they actually have to get in touch with him. Then he emails a copy of the statement to his and Mitch's families, and turns off his laptop too.

The Murphys are a hockey family; Dylan's pretty sure if he looked through the cable package for long enough, he'd be able to find someone talking about the statement and his situation. Instead, he finds _Lilo and Stitch_ on the Disney Channel and slumps down on the sofa. He only makes it ten minutes in before getting weepy. Goddamnit, why do Disney movies always have dead parents? He gets way too invested in the plot, to the point where he jumps when the phone rings.

Dylan picks it up warily and says, "Hello? Who is this?" It's rude, not identifying himself, but he's just paranoid enough to be cagey in case someone in the media dug up the Murphys' number.

"They _cannot_ fucking do this to you, Dylan," his dad says, and Dylan almost drops the phone in shock.

"Daddy?" he blurts out without thinking.

"This is bullshit, kiddo," Dad says. He sounds absolutely livid, but in a way that Dylan recognises from years of hearing him bitch out other parents at rinks. This is Dad being mad on his behalf.

Dylan takes a shuddering breath. "They did it anyway. And they tried to tell everyone I'm—they said I'm not _responsible_."

"Doing one thing you didn't mean to do doesn't make you _irresponsible_ ," Dad says. "And you're handling it like an adult. You're taking care of yourself, and your boy, and your baby." He doesn't hesitate to say the words. "Not to mention you're a goddamn OHL captain seeing your team through to the postseason."

"I'm not exactly helping them," Dylan says miserably.

"I don't believe that," Dad says. "And neither do you."

Dylan sniffles. He doesn't want to cry, not yet. "I'm coming home to have the baby, Dad. Once Mitch's season is done, we're—we're coming back."

"Good, that's good," Dad says. "We, uh. Your mother and I... we want to apologise." He clears his throat. "We were shocked, and we reacted... well, we were shitty to you boys."

"Dollar in the swear jar," Dylan jokes. "Actually you should probably make that ten dollars." He doesn't trust this, not yet, but he wants so badly for everything to be okay.

Dad sighs. "We want to help. I know that's hard to believe right now."

"I want you to trust me," Dylan replies. "It's all I ever wanted."

"We do," Dad says firmly. "And right now, you probably can't trust _that_ and, well, that's on us. We'd like to work on that."

Dylan squeezes his eye shut. "You didn't even call on my birthday."

"Your brother told your mother not to," Dad says. "Ryan's always had your back. I guess he thought it was for the best."

"He's—" Dylan chokes up, unable to think of the right words for everything Ryan's done lately. For everything Ryan's team has done. 

"He's had a few choice words for us, that's for sure," Dad says dryly. "Matt, too. They're both pretty pissed at your mom and I."

"Yeah, I know," Dylan replies, a small smile stealing over his face. "I—did Ryan send you a copy of the ultrasound?"

Dad makes a soft noise. "No, we haven't seen it yet."

"There's video," Dylan says, closing his eyes and smiling wide as he thinks about it. "You can hear the heartbeat."

Dad's quiet for a while, and Dylan _almost_ thinks he can hear him sniffling too.

"Matt has a copy," Dylan continues. "I'll tell him to show you."

"That—thank you." Dad takes a deep, audible breath. "You should know I'm proud of the way you're handling yourself. We both are."

"Dad," Dylan chokes.

"We'd like to go to your game tomorrow," Dad says. "If that's okay with you."

"It's a two-hour drive," Dylan protests.

"I'm aware, kiddo."

"Mitch is going to be there," Dylan points out. "And he's going to be pissed off."

Dad sighs. "I'm aware of that too. And I'm glad things are alright between you; your mother and I were surprised he wasn't mentioned in the press release."

"We're doing an interview," Dylan says. "In a week or so, I'm not sure. My publicist is going to let us know, but until we can control as many of the variables as possible, we're not letting that out."

"Smart," Dad acknowledges. "But then, you're a smart... man."

Dylan's eyes prickle and he tries _so hard_ , he really does, but that's—all he needs is for his parents to realise he's making his own decisions. "Thanks, Dad." His cheek tickles as tears start slipping from his eyes.

"We love you," Dad says. "See you tomorrow, Dylan."

"See you tomorrow," Dylan echoes. Then he hangs up and loses it. His family might be broken, if not so little, but it's still good.

"Ohana means family," Stitch says on the television. It's a little on the nose, but Dylan just cries harder.

He lets himself roll around in his feelings for a while as he watches the rest of the movie, but eventually he has to get up for food. And they have a game to kick ass in tonight.

-0-

Somehow Mitch is there waiting outside the hotel when Dylan and Brinksy pull up in London the next day. Dylan casts a sideways glance at Brinksy, but he just plasters on an innocent face and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

Mitch fucking lights up when he sees the car, and suddenly it's all Dylan can do to get his seatbelt unbuckled so he can leap out of the car and pull Mitch in, like they're in some kind of romcom.

"Fuck," Mitch says into Dylan's neck. "God. I missed you."

Dylan kisses the top of Mitch's head. "I missed you too." And after the next two games Mitch has a glorious week-long break. They're going to have to do their interview at some point in that time, but now that they're both here, they won't have to be apart for seven solid days. Well, excepting game time, of course. And the other thing they get to do in that time is see the speck again.

"Come on, let's get checked in," Mitch says, pulling back a little bit. "Where's your stuff?"

"Got it!" Brinksy calls, hoisting Dylan's bag.

"Hey, thanks," Mitch says, grabbing it from Brinksy before Dylan can. "You're pretty okay, for a guy whose ass I'm gonna have to kick tonight."

Brinksy makes the most unimpressed face Dylan's ever seen on him. "You keep thinking that, bro."

Mitch rolls his eyes, takes Dylan's hand, and drags him inside. They're upstairs in less than five minutes, and as soon as the door is closed behind them, Mitch presses Dylan up against the wall.

"Hi," Dylan breathes, cradling Mitch's face in his hands.

"Hi," Mitch says, smiling brightly. "I love you." He tilts his face up, and Dylan obliges him with a kiss.

"How long until you have to be at the rink?" Mitch asks when he finally pulls back.

"Uh," Dylan says, glancing around until he sees the clock on the bedstand. "Hour and a half?"

"Plenty of time for me to blow you and still get a nap in," Mitch says.

"I like your priorities," Dylan replies.

Mitch grins and reaches between them, sliding his hand up under Dylan's shirt. "I thought you might."

It feels like it's been _months_ since they touched. Dylan lets out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding when Mitch's fingers brush the button on his jeans, and he needs them to be touching everywhere, right now.

"Off," he demands, grabbing at Mitch's shirt. "Off, off, off."

Mitch steps back and tugs his shirt over his head obligingly, but when Dylan reaches for the hem of his own, Mitch reaches out to catch his hand. "Let me?" he asks.

Dylan nods stupidly, gasping when Mitch's hands slide under his shirt again. Mitch pushes the fabric up slowly, his eyes never leaving Dylan's. Dylan whines when Mitch's fingertips brush over his nipples.

Mitch smirks, and raises an eyebrow. "Sensitive?"

"Yeah." Dylan lets his head fall back against the wall. "Really, really— _fuck_ ," he breathes out as Mitch leans down and licks his nipple. He slides his hand into Mitch's hair and holds on for dear life.

Mitch mouths at him over and over, rubbing his finger against Dylan's other nipple until Dylan's sure he's going to come in his pants from just this. "Please," he gasps out, and Mitch bites down gently. Dylan shouts and his hips jerk forward, and Mitch kisses his pec, next to his nipple. He keeps his head bowed there on Dylan's chest for a minute, his hand rubbing gently at Dylan's side, until Dylan gets his breathing under control.

"We should—bed. Before I fall down," Dylan pants.

"Yeah," Mitch murmurs, kissing Dylan's chest again before raising his head. He pushes Dylan's shirt up the rest of the way, pulling it over his head and leaning in for a kiss as he drags it down Dylan's arms. "Bed. Now."

They end up stumbling, taking twice as long as they should to get over to the bed, because Mitch won't take his hands off Dylan for a second. It's not like Dylan's any better; he keeps trying to get Mitch's pants off, which he knows is more of a hindrance than a help, but he just wants skin on skin. Mitch makes a gorgeous noise with Dylan's hands on his ass, though. That hasn't changed since the last time they saw each other.

"Fuck, why don't we have more _time_ ," Dylan groans.

"Wish I didn't have to play tonight," Mitch says. "I want..." He flushes a little and looks up at Dylan from under his lashes. "It's not as good with my fingers as it is with yours."

"Two more days," Dylan promises. "Fuck."

Mitch grinds his hips against Dylan. "Yeah," he says. "But—bed, c'mon,"

Dylan lets Mitch tug him down and roll him over, so he's flat on his back with Mitch kneeling between his legs. He's still in his boxers, but Mitch leans in and rubs his face against the hard line of Dylan's cock.

Holy _fuck_. Dylan's skin has been hypersensitive for a couple of weeks now, and up until now it's mostly been an annoyance. "Babe," he gasps out, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Mitch's hair. Mitch smirks at him and sucks a wet spot on Dylan's boxers, right over the head of his dick.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to—" Dylan lifts his hips, desperate for more.

Mitch reaches up to grab Dylan's free hand, lacing their fingers together, and hums around him. Dylan hasn't come in his pants since he was fourteen, but he feels like he's about three seconds away from it. Mitch doesn't have a lot of room to do anything, not with Dylan's cock still in his boxers, but he bobs his head a little anyway.

Yeah, Dylan's done. He's _so_ fucking done, just—gone. He jams his fist in his mouth, because they're in a hotel and his teammates probably have adjoining rooms. Mitch tightens his fingers around Dylan's as Dylan whines and thrusts up, and he keeps sucking until Dylan drops his hips to the bed.

Dylan pets Mitch's hair weakly. "Stop. You can stop."

Mitch hums a little more before pulling off and resting his head on Dylan's thigh. "What if I don't want to?"

"Then you don't get to get off before you have to play," Dylan says. "I'm fast, but I'm not that fast."

Mitch crawls up the bed and kisses him until he's dizzy. "Can I just," he pants against Dylan's mouth, and Dylan nods. Whatever Mitch wants, god, Dylan'll give it to him.

Mitch groans and pushes his boxers down, rubbing against Dylan's hip. Dylan noses at his cheek until Mitch turns and kisses him again, and when Mitch gets a good rhythm going, Dylan reaches down and grabs Mitch's ass firmly.

"I can't believe you just did that," Mitch pants in Dylan's ear.

"Can't believe you made me," Dylan replies.

"So fucking hot." Mitch keeps rocking against him, making Dylan sticky and slick.

Dylan squeezes his ass again. "Not as hot as you coming all over me."

Mitch groans, long and loud, and does as he's told. Dylan kisses him through it and keeps kissing him after, pulling him down until Mitch covers him. They're disgusting, and Dylan will care soon, but right now he just wants Mitch.

-0-

"So," Dylan says when they finally untangle and start cleaning up. "My parents are here."

Mitch, who was in the process of putting his boxers back on, squawks and kicks out with his feet. He ends up naked and tangled, hanging halfway off the bed. "Your parents who haven't talked to you in over a month? Those parents?"

"I haven't grown another set," Dylan says dryly. "And, well, my dad called yesterday. It was... good. I think."

"You should've called me, after," Mitch says softly.

Dylan shrugs. "We had a game. And I was wiped."

"Babe," Mitch sighs, but he doesn't say anything else.

"And I was coming up today anyway," Dylan adds. "I wasn't, like, keeping it from you."

Mitch abandons his mission to get dressed and pulls Dylan into a sideways hug. "Talking to your dad was good, yeah?"

"Yeah," Dylan says. "He, uh. He heard about the Sportsnet thing." He laughs a little. "He's pissed."

"Since you said it was good, I'm guessing that means he's pissed at the Yotes," Mitch says.

" _So_ pissed," Dylan says gleefully.

Mitch squeezes him close. "Good."

Dylan snuggles in, nuzzling the side of Mitch's neck. "I mean, I don't trust it yet? But he said they're sorry."

"They'd better be," Mitch says darkly. "The shit they pulled when we told them..."

"Don't. I remember what they said, okay? But they're my parents." If this is fixable, Dylan needs to fix it. Because if they're going to pull this off, if they're both going to make it against the odds, they're going to need all the help they can get.

Mitch sighs, and Dylan can feel him lose a little tension. "I want to go with you," he says. "When you talk to them."

"I'll try," Dylan replies, "but it's not like we're meeting at Tim Horton's. If they come over when you're on the ice or in the locker room..."

"Please," Mitch says. "See if they can meet us soon, or after the game." He hesitates before adding, "Please don't leave me out of this."

Dylan pulls back so Mitch can see his face. "That's not what I'm doing, babe. I'll text Mom and see if we can meet after the game, but last time—" He swallows hard, pushing aside the hurt and the anger. "Last time I just sort of ran into her in the hall."

Mitch mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _better fucking security_ and nods. "Keep someone with you," he says. "Mini-me. He can bite if needed, or run for help, or something."

"He's not Lassie," Dylan says, laughing.

"DeBrindog," Mitch says thoughtfully. "It has potential."

Dylan snorts. "We could get him a headband with puppy ears."

"Only if we can come up with a way to guarantee he wears it," Mitch says. "Can we withhold baby snuggles or something?"

"Hm. I'm not sure yet. He might be too scared to hold it. Her. Or him." Now that Dylan's seen his baby flail indignantly at the intrusion of the ultrasound, he doesn't like calling the speck _it_.

Mitch's hand drifts down to rest low on Dylan's belly. "Is it weird that I kinda think it's a girl?"

Dylan feels a goofy smile spread across his face. "Nah, it's not weird. Anyway, if you say girl and I say boy, one of us is probably going to be right."

"Pretty good odds," Mitch agrees, smiling wide.

Dylan has to kiss him then, because the smile compels him. Mitch doesn't seem to mind, if the way he kisses back is any indication.

"We need to get dressed and get going," Dylan says. "I'll text my mom."

Mitch kisses him one more time before letting go and getting back to work. He makes getting dressed look like a full-time job, with the slow, deliberate way he inches his boxers on and reaches for his shirt.

"I know what you're doing," Dylan says dryly.

Mitch blinks innocently. "Me? What am I doing?"

"Trying to make yourself late. Which means Coach would have to scratch you for the _last games_ of the regular season." Dylan pokes Mitch in the arm. "My team's gonna beat yours fair and square, Marner."

"That doesn't sound like a thing I would do," Mitch says. "Also, we're both already in the playoffs. These games are gimmes." 

That... is a solid point. "Your coach is letting us drive down together tomorrow," Dylan tries. "We shouldn't—um. We should be professional." God, how is it so hard to keep his hands to himself right now? They _just_ got off; Dylan can't possibly be touch-starved at the moment.

"Kiss me?" Mitch says, grinning and leaning in. He's mostly dressed, even, and that deserves a reward.

Dylan puts his hand on the back of Mitch's neck and kisses him deep and filthy. Then he breaks off, pats Mitch on the cheek, and gets up. "See you after the game, babe."

"Dyls," Mitch whines.

"Love you," Dylan says. "Go play hockey."

He heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth, locking the door behind him just in case. Dylan's only human, and if Mitch _really_ wants to drag him back to bed... well. Maybe it'd be fair for _both_ teams to be down a captain.

Mitch knocks on the bathroom door a minute later. "You're not fair, but I love you anyway," he calls. "Text me when you hear from your mom."

"I promise," Dylan yells back. "I love you even though you're the enemy."

"True love," Mitch says, and then Dylan hears the hotel room door shut.

He waits a minute just to be safe, opening the bathroom door just a crack so he can peer out and make sure Mitch is really gone. The coast is clear, and Dylan breathes out a little, relieved. After the mess with the Yotes, the last thing he wants is to give anyone an excuse to question his responsibility.

He texts his mom and tosses his phone onto the bed, pulling his suit out of its bag and getting dressed. By the time he's ready to go, she's replied, telling him that she and Dad will meet up with him and Mitch after the game. Okay, good. They're respecting what he asked for; that's a good start.

He lets Mitch know what the plan is, then texts Brinksy. Mitch's idea about keeping him close by isn't a bad one, even if he's mostly sure his parents will stick to their end of the bargain. Brinksy is at his door a few minutes later, and with that Dylan heads off to his last away game as an Otter.

-0-

The less said about the game, the better. Dylan's not mad at Mitch for having a great team, but it fucking sucks not being able to help the Otters, not being able to compete. He misses the adrenaline, and the thrill of being out there on the ice when they take shots. Sometimes he even misses the gross, sweaty hugs—but then, Brinksy's only too happy to forcibly remind him what those are like, ugh. 

Dylan can't even lie to himself about how nervous he is after everyone has showered and changed. He doesn't tell anyone what's going on, but Taylor and Darren loiter by the door when Dylan doesn't make a move to get out of his stall, and Brinksy sits on the bench next to Dylan.

"Who do we need to punch?" Brinksy says, balling his hand into a fist and slapping it against his palm, as if Dylan's somehow forgotten what a fight is since he's been benched.

"You still don't get to beat my husband up," Dylan says. "Not sorry."

"What did he do?" Darren asks, folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "He's meeting me outside so we can go talk to my parents. Together."

"Your parents," Brinksy says, somehow managing to sound menacing. Dylan's a little surprised; he's never worked up that kind of animosity for Mitch, and Dylan's pretty sure he actually has wanted to beat the shit out of Mitch.

Dylan bumps shoulders with Brinksy. "Yeah, my dad called to bitch about how he hates the Yotes now? And they asked if they could come."

"I'm coming," Brinksy says. "For moral support."

" _Mitch_ is coming for support," Dylan replies. "But if you want to lurk I won't stop you."

Brinksy frowns. "Why do I have to lurk? _Mitch_ gets to go."

Taylor coughs. "Uh, dude, Dylan married Mitch. That gives him dibs."

Dylan snorts. "Not to mention Mitch had intimate involvement in knocking me up. Is there something you wanna tell me, Brinks?"

Brinksy goes red as Darren and Taylor laugh. "Fine, I'll lurk," he mutters. "But I'm coming in if there's, like, yelling."

Dylan slings an arm around Brinksy's shoulders and gives him a sloppy kiss on the side of the head. "My hero."

There's knocking at the door, and then Mitch pokes his head in. He glances around at the collected Otters and nods. "Hey, thanks for sticking around until I got over here."

Taylor snorts. "Your knight is here."

"You're hilarious," Dylan says dryly. He turns to Mitch. "Ready?"

"Ready, sir." Mitch bends in a sweeping bow and holds out his hand.

Dylan smacks it. "God, don't encourage them."

"But Dyls," Mitch says, peering up at him through his not-innocent-at-all eyelashes. " _Courtly love_."

"I changed my mind," Dylan announces. "I'm taking Brinksy instead."

"Damn right," Brinksy says. "There's nothing courtly about fucking him in my bathroom."

"And your bedroom," Mitch adds. "Just for variety."

Dylan sighs happily. "Remember that time we borrowed the car?"

"You two deserve each other," Brinksy mutters. "C'mon, Rads. Let's lurk in the hallway for these ungrateful assholes."

He leaves without a backward glance, Raddyshes in tow. As soon as they're gone Mitch kneels on the disgusting locker room floor, grabbing Dylan's hand so he can kiss the back of it.

"M'lord," he says to Dylan's wrist.

"You're ridiculous," Dylan says, but his voice is way too soft to make it sound like a bad thing.

Mitch just grins. "I didn't get to do the proposal right, and the wedding was Connor's bridezilla-by-proxy thing." He turns Dylan's hand over and kisses his palm.

"If you stay on the floor you'll ruin your pants," Dylan points out. "Do you want to have stains on your knees when you talk to my parents?"

Mitch waggles his eyebrows. "I mean, it's not like they don't know we're banging."

"No sex jokes in front of my parents," Dylan says immediately.

Mitch sighs. " _Fine_." But he's pouting when he gets up off the floor and sits down next to Dylan.

Dylan takes his hand. "Mom said we should text her when we were ready to meet up."

"You'll never be ready," Mitch says, squeezing Dylan's hand, "but we should go anyway."

"So, what, the whole knight in shining armour thing was you trying to distract me?"

"Of course," Mitch says. "And, well, Brinksy makes great faces." He twists his face up in an approximation of Brinksy's horrified face, and Dylan has to laugh a little.

He turns so he can press his face into Mitch's neck for a minute. "At least _you_ love me."

"Always," Mitch says instantly. He squeezes the hand Dylan's holding. "Always."

"And we'll always love the speck," Dylan chokes out. "No matter what."

"So much," Mitch says, turning so he can pull Dylan in and hold him tightly. Dylan just breathes him in for a minute, soaking in Mitch's certainty. 

"Okay," he says finally, pulling away and grabbing for his phone. "Okay. Let's do this."

"Okay," Mitch says. "Text your mom. Tell them to head for the training room." He squeezes Dylan to his side once more before letting go. "I talked to Coach; he said as long as we're out before they try to lock up, we can use the space. I'll let the boys know where to loiter."

Dylan tries to keep his mind clear as they head down the hall. No use worrying about what _might_ happen when he's going to know soon enough.

Mitch squeezes his hand. "If you need to leave, we'll leave," he says. "Let me know."

Dylan smiles tightly. "Got your steed ready to carry me away, eh?"

"You've got your boys to back you up," Mitch says. "I've got some backup, too. I'm not leaving you on your own, and they're not leaving us."

"Knights of the round-ish hockey rink. Okay, let's go."

Mitch pushes the door of the training room open. When Dylan walks in, he has to bite his lip; Juolevi and Brinksy are standing side by side, very obviously glaring at Dylan's parents.

Dylan shakes his head. "Down, boys. I said lurk, not loom."

"Hallway," Mitch adds firmly, pointing out the door. "This is a family thing. We appreciate the support, but we appreciate it even more from a little bit of a distance."

They file out reluctantly, and Mitch shuts the door behind them. Dylan sort of feels like he should apologise, but he likes his parents knowing that he's got people who have his back. His mom clasps her hands together, like she's not sure what she's allowed to do with them.

"Hi," Mitch finally ventures, and Dad coughs and takes two huge steps across the room, wrapping Dylan in a tight hug. Dylan squeezes his eyes shut; he's not really sure this is happening, but he wants to enjoy it while he can.

"I'm so sorry," he hears Mom say, and when he cracks his eyes open, he sees that she's got her arms around a slightly alarmed-looking Mitch.

Mitch mouths, "Help!" so Dylan detaches himself from his dad.

"Mom," he says, and Mom detaches herself from Mitch and grabs Dylan. "Mom, it's okay. I'm fine."

"Have you been sick?" she asks, pulling back and studying Dylan's face. "Do your feet hurt? My feet were the worst, all three times."

Dylan's face turns red. Somehow telling his parents about the baby hadn't equated in his head to _telling his mom about the baby_. And facing proof she'd had three of them. "No, it's," he starts, then coughs. "I'm just hungry a lot?"

"He never gets sick," Mitch confirms, smiling now that they've moved on to his favourite topic. "We're buying stock in a pretzel company, too. It can only end well."

"You always were my tough guy," Mom says, pulling back and kissing Dylan on the forehead. "When you moved away, I didn't think you needed me anymore. But I was wrong."

"We're doing fine," Dylan says, taking a step back.

She smiles. "Better than fine. Just look at you."

Mitch reaches out and grabs Dylan's hand, and Dylan takes a deep breath. "I'm having the baby in Toronto."

Dylan's dad steps around him and wraps an arm around Mom. "If you need any advice on finding a hospital in the area or anything, we'd be happy to help." 

Mom takes a wobbly breath, and Dylan tries to brace himself. If she starts crying, he's gonna, too. "I want to help, if you'll let me," she says.

"How?" Dylan asks, instead of just blindly agreeing like he sort of wants to.

"The baby's going to need a lot more than you can imagine," she starts. Dylan braces himself for a lecture on how the hell he thinks he can be a halfway decent parent, but then she continues, "That's what baby showers are for. People who've been there helping you figure out the difference between four different types of size zero."

"Baby shower?" Dylan repeats, just as Mitch asks, "How can there be _four_ size zeroes?"

"Don't ask me; ask the manufacturers," Mom replies. "It's just a thought, and if you want to organize it yourselves I understand but—well, you're having the baby in Toronto. And Mitch's family is there."

Honestly, the less Dylan has to actively organise, the better off it'll probably be. "That, uh," he says, clearing his throat. "If you want to plan that, that'd be... nice."

"Over the summer?" she asks.

"After the season, yeah," Mitch says. He squeezes Dylan's hand. "And after the Cup finals, because then Ryan can be there."

Mom nods. "Of course. We can figure out the details later, I just—" She turns to Dylan, her eyes shining. "I'm sorry. I was worried for you and I lashed out, and it wasn't fair. I'm so glad you're giving me another chance."

"Mom," Dylan chokes, feeling the tears kind of magically appear in his eyes. She sweeps him into her arms again, and Dylan just holds on.

"Hey," Mitch says softly. "Want to see the baby?"

"Yeah," Dad says, sounding pretty choked up, too. "That'd be great."

-0-

Dylan has the best night of sleep he's managed in weeks. Mitch is the number one best body pillow; accept no substitutes. He wakes up to the feeling of Mitch gently brushing his fingers against his stomach, again and again, and smiles into Mitch's shoulder.

"Hi," Dylan drawls lazily, turning it into at least three syllables.

"Morning," Mitch replies, nuzzling into Dylan's hair. "Sleep okay?"

"So good." Dylan kisses Mitch's collarbone, grinning when it makes him gasp. "I could get used to the view."

"Summer's coming," Mitch says, moving his hand up to grip at Dylan's hip.

Dylan snorts and cups Mitch's hardening cock. "It's not the only thing."

Mitch groans. "We have to check out."

"Right now?" Dylan asks, grinning.

"Well, I let you sleep in," Mitch says, grinding against Dylan's hand a little. "So, kinda, yeah."

Dylan nips at his throat. "One more game and we can have a sexcation."

"If I make it that long," Mitch mutters. He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Up, shower, jerk off, check out."

"I'm just gonna jerk off here while you're in the shower," Dylan says as Mitch slides out of bed. He pushes his hand into his boxers to palm himself. "That saves time, right?"

Mitch stumbles sideways and bumps his hip on the dresser. "You're a menace."

Dylan lets out an exaggerated moan as Mitch fumbles with the bathroom door. Mitch glares as he finally gets into the bathroom, and then he slams the door. Dylan grins and relaxes into the mattress. It's at least a little hot, knowing he and Mitch are jerking off at the same time in the same place; Dylan gets himself off pretty quickly and gets up to start getting ready just as Mitch is turning the shower off.

Mitch sighs when he comes out, wearing a towel and nothing else. "Of course you're still naked."

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "Look who's talking."

"Towel," Mitch says, pointing to it.

Dylan reaches out and grabs the towel, tossing it to the bed. "Now we're even."

Mitch gives up and tackles him back onto the bed. "You are the worst."

"You knew that when you married me," Dylan points out, grinning. "Also, weren't you just telling me about how we had to leave?"

"It's not like you have to be on the bus." Mitch kisses him, soft like breathing.

"That's true," Dylan says, running his hands up Mitch's thighs to settle firmly on his ass.

Dylan's stomach chooses that moment to start rumbling loudly. Mitch drops his head onto Dylan's shoulder. "Cockblocking us already. Our kid's ahead of her time."

"He's had a busy night of, like, growing and whatever," Dylan points out. He gives Mitch's ass a fond goodbye pat before linking his hands in the small of Mitch's back. "Maybe we should find him some waffles."

They reluctantly get dressed and head downstairs. Mitch insists on carrying the bags and Dylan doesn't even roll his eyes, reminding himself this is something Mitch gets to do before they're apart again for playoffs. They have waffles on the continental breakfast bar, so Dylan and the speck are happy enough; Mitch scrounges up some fruit and oatmeal for himself and manages to not make a face as he eats it.

They get on the road with plenty of time to spare, which is good, because Dylan can already foresee a million bathroom breaks between London and Erie. Mitch keeps glancing over at him and smiling. It's silly, but it makes Dylan smile too. It feels like things are working out. Every time they come to a stop, Mitch reaches out for him, rests his hand on Dylan's knee or his thigh, or grabs his hand and squeezes. Dylan could say that it doesn't make his whole chest do funny things, but that would be a lie.

Mitch lets him go readily enough when they make the first bathroom stop, but when Dylan comes back he's leaning against the car.

"What's up?" Dylan asks.

Mitch takes his hands and reels him in for a kiss. It's gentle, slow; Dylan leans into him, wondering what Mitch could possibly have planned for a parking lot at a gas station, but Mitch pulls back after a minute and just beams at him. "Hi."

"Hello," Dylan replies. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I got snacks," Mitch says, not stepping away. "And enough Skittles to share, in case she's still in the mood."

Dylan's stomach grumbles again, right on cue. "He's very grateful."

Mitch rubs his knuckles gently against Dylan's belly before slipping out from between Dylan and the car. He tugs at Dylan's hand until he moves, too, and then opens the door for him, sweeping a bow.

The whole trip is like that. Mitch is ridiculously courteous for four hours straight, and Dylan can't get an explanation out of him. He just smiles and turns up the stereo. It's... nice, Dylan decides. It's really, really nice, just the two of them in the car, sometimes holding hands, sometimes kissing before Mitch gets out to put gas in the tank.

"Hey," Dylan says when they're half an hour from Erie. "You know I'm not going anywhere, right?"

Mitch honest-to-god beams. "Yeah, I know. It's just—I get to take you _home_ this summer."

Dylan smiles at him, and it's a good fucking thing they're at a stop light, because they just sit there grinning at each other for a solid thirty seconds. Dylan ducks in to press a quick kiss to Mitch's lips when the crosswalk signal starts blinking. "Love you," he murmurs.

"Love you too," Mitch replies, and he keeps staring until a horn blares from the car behind them.

Mitch drives directly to the hotel, and Dylan suddenly wants to just keep driving, to head west and go.

"You okay?" Mitch asks, cutting a glance at him as they pull into a park.

"Yeah," Dylan says. "One more game, right?"

"One more game," Mitch echoes. He looks like he'd rather run away, too.

"Okay," Dylan says. "Okay. You gotta get out of the car, babe."

Mitch sighs heavily and leans in for one more kiss.

" _Get it, Marns_ ," someone crows, and when Mitch pulls away, Dylan sees Tkachuk waving at them from the sidewalk.

"He already got it," someone yells back.

Tkachuk nods at whoever's yelling from inside the hotel. "He liked it, so he put a ring on it." He has to be yelling loud enough to wake the dead, if Dylan can hear him so clearly while they're still in the car.

"I'd have to be crazy not to," Mitch says, grinning unrepentantly.

"Would definitely husband again," Dylan says, grinning back. "Go shut your teammates up before they out us to everyone with ears."

They get out of the car and manage not to cling to each other too much as the hug goodbye. As soon as Mitch turns his back, Dylan wolf-whistles loudly. "Now _that's_ a hockey ass."

Mitch swings his hips as he heads towards the doors, and the look on Tkachuk's face makes Dylan double over the wheel laughing as he climbs into the driver's seat.

_the spark is still there,_ he texts to Mitch, and then he pulls away. When he gets home, Mitch has sent him three eggplant emojis and about forty of the heart eyes face, so Dylan heads up for his pre-game nap with a smile on his face.

-0-

Dylan gets to the rink and heads right for the locker room, just like always. He has to stop and take a deep breath at the door, because this... this is it. This is his last regular season game as an Otter. It's his last time as captain, leading his team to the playoffs. He wants to blame the speck for the way he tears up a little, but he remembers finding Connor in the bathroom at the time last year, and Dylan's sure the expression on his face is the same one Connor had had then.

Dylan remembers Connor's explosive anger when they lost, and how sick he'd felt that _this_ was the send-off Connor was getting. Connor had assured him, right after and several times since, that he was okay with it, that it sucked but that losing was part of the game. Dylan knows that, has known that since he was in Mites, but he wants to give his guys here a better send-off anyway. Maybe it's selfish, but he loves the speck so much already and he doesn't want anything to mar that. He doesn't ever want to look at his baby and think _you're the reason I let down people I care about_.

"Hey," Dylan hears, and when he looks up, Brinksy punches his arm gently. "We're gonna do the thing. Come in and rally the troops, okay?"

Dylan nods. "Okay." He can do this; he's done this before.

"You need pretzels?" Brinksy asks. "I put a big bag of them in your stall. Just in case."

Dylan smiles at him and steps through the door, taking a minute to just watch his team be raucous kids. Taylor has Marchy in a headlock while Darren eggs them both on, and Dermott and Betzy have started kicking a soccer ball around. He snorts when he catches sight of his stall; there's a family-sized bag of pretzels in it that _someone_ has put a diaper on. Brinksy grins when Dylan looks at him, totally unrepentant. Dylan shrugs, picks up the bag, and sets it on his hip. "Listen up, kids."

"Shut it," Brinksy yells when the room doesn't immediately go silent. Dylan has to cough to keep himself from laughing; Brinksy will always be Brinksy. It's good to know.

"Junior and I are very proud," Dylan says, bouncing the bag of pretzels. "You've all been kicking ass and taking names." Last night's loss had been a grind, not a walkover; the Otters easily could've won it if not for lucky bounces. "We're back in our barn now," he says. "So let's take the win. Let's show them what Otters hockey is."

The team cheers, and when they file past Dylan to hit the ice every last one of them stops to ruffle the pretzel bag's "hair".

"Do it for Junior," Dylan says solemnly, holding the bag out to Brinksy, who plants a smacking kiss on the bag. "Don't make him cry."

Brinksy snorts. "We're doing it for you, dumbass," he says. "And, like, ourselves. But we're winning this thing for you."

Dylan taps Brinksy's helmet. "Otters for life."

"You bet," Brinksy says, grinning and patting the pretzels again.

The game is nothing short of fucking _awesome_. It's another grind, but the bounces go their way this time; by the time they're heading into the third, the Otters are up one, and everyone in the locker room is bound and determined to get the win.

The Knights are bound and determined not to let that happen, though, and they throw everything they have at Brinksy. He's always been known as someone who's either clutch or penalty-bait; on a good night he can keep it together, but the Knights are counting on making it a bad one. If they can draw a penalty, if they can get a power play goal…

Dylan almost can't believe it when it happens, honestly; Brinksy gets caught in a board battle behind their net, and Dylan holds his breath when he sees _Marner_ on the London jersey. There's no way—but then Brinksy is twisting and skating away, the puck on his stick, and he dekes easily around the Knights' defenders as he powers down the ice, sniping a shot over the glove of the goalie. Dylan's on his feet cheering before the goal's even announced.

Brinksy's mouth guard is hanging out of his mouth as he skates back to fistbump the bench. He points at Dylan, standing with Coach behind all of the players, and pumps his fist in the air, and Dylan thinks he might never stop smiling.

The Knights lay on the pressure, and Tkachuk gets an absolute beauty of a goal. They're within one of tying it up. Darren reaches back and socks Dylan in the thigh with three minutes left. "We got this," he says fiercely, and then he hops over the boards, diving in front of a shot and managing to deflect it back out of the zone. London pulls their goalie with two minutes left, but it doesn't matter; the buzzer sounds, loud and long, and the Otters all spill onto the ice to celebrate.

Brinksy skates over to the boards and manhandles Dylan over to the gate. "Come on, Captan."

"Don't let me fall," Dylan says, smiling and following Brinksy onto the ice. "My Knight is _right there_ , and he will definitely kill you with his skate blade."

Brinksy gallantly offers his arm, and even though Dylan is 100% sure that it's not going to provide any stability with how high up Brinksy has to reach, he takes it anyway. They slip and slide out to centre ice, and Taylor slings a sweaty arm around Dylan's shoulders.

"Stromer!" he yells, and the guys whoop and cheer as they push him to the middle of their sweaty group hug.

"You're disgusting!" Dylan yells as they drip all over his suit, but he can't stop grinning. It's amazing, being out here with his team. Yeah, he still wishes he could be skating with them, to have helped in this win, but this isn't bad at all.

-0-

He and Mitch agree that tonight's a night for team bonding, so Dylan heads home alone after a couple of really embarrassing speeches from his teammates about his leadership. Dylan curls up around his giant otter; it's nowhere near as good a body pillow as Mitch but he's too tired to care.

Dylan sleeps soundly and wakes up to a group chat between himself, Mitch, and Brinksy that's apparently been going on for the last half hour or so. He could read it, but it looks like he's missed almost 100 messages. Instead, he calls Mitch.

"Hey babe," Mitch says warmly. "How's your morning going?"

Dylan stretches and rubs his eyes. "Just getting started."

"I figured," Mitch says. "Sleep okay?"

"Mm, yeah. Better when you're here, though."

"Tonight," Mitch promises. "But, hey, speaking of me being there, did you see your texts?"

"No," Dylan admits, trying to fight back a yawn.

Mitch laughs. "The short version is that Brinksy has set up some sort of lunch thing for a few of the guys. You, me, him, the Raddyshes, and a couple of my guys. Dvorak and Juolevi."

"Did I hear that right? Brinksy called a truce?"

"He definitely has something up his sleeve," Mitch says. "He was weirdly specific about who I should invite."

Dylan snorts. "Think it's a crush? Or something worse?"

"Would he invite the Raddyshes out to tell you and me he had a thing for someone?" Mitch asks, then pauses. "Oh my god, what if he's pregnant?"

"Why would he invite two of my teammates and two of your teammates out to tell us that?" Dylan points out. "Unless... unless he doesn't know which one of them is the dad." It's ridiculous. They're jumping to conclusions based on pretty much nothing. But then Dylan glances down at his stomach, and remembers that both Dvorak and Juolevi were at World Juniors. "Shit, what if that's it?"

"I don't think he'd invite us to that," Mitch says cautiously. "Unless, like. Would he use us as bodyguards?"

"He absolutely would," Dylan says. "Should I text him? Or should we wait for him to say something and maybe not embarrass ourselves?"

Mitch sighs a little. "Maybe we should wait," he says. "I mean, if he is, we'll know soon enough."

"Okay, we can wait," Dylan says, mind racing. "Am I picking you up on the way?"

Mitch hums. "Only if you want Dvorak and Juolevi as backseat drivers."

Dylan makes a face. "Or we could just meet there."

They talk for a few minutes, until Dylan can convince himself to get up and start getting ready for the day. He snags some breakfast and wanders back upstairs, determined to get some stuff packed up; he and Mitch are heading back to Toronto for the interview, so it only makes sense that he takes some of his stuff with him. It seems like it's not long at all before his phone is ringing. "Yo," Brinksy says. "I'm picking you up in ten."

"I can drive," Dylan says.

"But you're not going to," Brinksy says cheerily. "Because I'm already on my way to your house."

"You're a menace," Dylan grumbles.

Brinksy laughs. "This isn't news," he says. "See you in a few."

The ride to the diner for lunch isn't long; Brinksy seems bound and determined to not answer any questions on the way there. "It's just lunch," he finally says when Dylan asks for the fifth time what they're doing. "You like eating. Shut up and enjoy it."

Everyone else is already there, and when Juolevi sees them he jumps up from his seat to give Brinksy a bro hug. Dylan turns to Mitch and mouths, _What the fuck_?

Mitch mouths _babydaddy _back at him. Juolevi sits back down and Brinksy squeezes in next to him. It leaves the spot next to Mitch free, so Dylan takes it, eyeing Brinksy and Juolevi warily.__

__Dylan puts his arm around Mitch's shoulders. "So, what's the big occasion?"_ _

__"End of the season," Taylor says. "We're treating our captains to lunch."_ _

__"Aww, that's sweet," Mitch coos, picking up a sugar packet and throwing it at Brinksy._ _

__Darren raises his menu as a shield. "Aw, lay off, Marns. We were gonna just take Stromer out, but we invited you because we didn't want to cut in on your gross couple time." He nods at Dvorak. "And you're not the only captain on the Knights, so."_ _

__Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Gross couple time, huh?" He moves his free hand under the table and pokes Mitch in the thigh._ _

__Mitch makes an exaggerated porn noise. "Oh yeah, baby, you know what I like."_ _

__Dvorak raises a hand. "I'm grateful that you thought of me, but can I pass on lunch? I just lost my entire appetite."_ _

__"You don't even _know_ ," Juolevi says flatly. "At least they're not naked."_ _

__Mitch starts laughing, leaning into Dylan's side. "Dude, you didn't even knock," he says. "You brought that whole thing upon yourself."_ _

__"Hey babe," Dylan says in a stage whisper, resting his free hand on his stomach and leaning back so everyone can clearly see it. "Do you think that was _the night_?"_ _

__"Could be," Mitch says, batting his eyelashes at Dylan. "Does that mean Juo gets an assist on knocking you up?"_ _

__Brinksy snorts and elbows Juolevi in the side. "That's your new nickname: The Assistant."_ _

__Juolevi facewashes him. "At least _my_ house is clean."_ _

__Dvorak's gaze bounces between Dylan-and-Mitch and Brinksy-and-Juolevi, like he can't decide which is more horrifying. "I didn't even know you guys were friends," he ventures. "Consorting with the enemy, Juo?"_ _

__"Not like that," Juolevi says flatly, waving his hand at Dylan and Mitch. "Because of that, yes. But no."_ _

__Silence falls over the table; nobody knows where to look._ _

__"Hey," Taylor pipes up, "for once it's not me making things awkward!"_ _

__"There's still time," Darren says. "I have faith in you, bro."_ _

__Taylor rests his elbow on the table and puts his chin in his hands. "I don't see how. We have the old marrieds over there and young love over here. How do I compete with that?"_ _

__Dvorak rolls his eyes, leans over the table, and kisses Taylor on the forehead. "There. Now _everyone's_ weird. Can we eat?"_ _

__"We're super not dating," Brinksy adds, elbowing Taylor in the side. "So, you know, you made that weird. That's on you."_ _

__Taylor glances at his brother. Darren shrugs, and then they say in unison, "Booty call."_ _

__"I'm getting pancakes," Dvorak says loudly. "With bananas and strawberries sliced on top. That sounds delicious, right?"_ _

__Dylan's stomach rumbles loudly enough for the whole table to hear. "That's a yes from the speck."_ _

__They manage to figure out what they're all going to order before the waitress comes back, which is sort of a minor miracle if you ask Dylan. Once she leaves again, Dvorak clears his throat awkwardly. "So, uh."_ _

__"So," Dylan echoes. "Here we are, three captains and four minions."_ _

__"After the playoffs, that's it," Darren says. "Brinksy and Taylor and Juo might have another year in the OHL, but you guys are moving up." He's matter-of-fact, like he's at peace with _not_ including himself in the group of people moving on to bigger and better things._ _

__Taylor punches him hard in the arm. "And you're going to sign somewhere as a free agent and kick everyone's asses," he says. It's less of an encouragement and more of a threat._ _

__"Fuck the Kings," Brinksy says with feeling. "And fuck the Yotes."_ _

__Dylan kicks him under the table._ _

__"Is the speck why?" Dvorak blurts out, then colours. "Uh, I mean."_ _

__"I mean, yeah," Dylan says, looking down. "They won't say it, but until they found out, everything was fine."_ _

__"I really hope you're not G+," Mitch says, patting Dvorak on the arm. "Domi says it's not great."_ _

__"Fuck," Dvorak says glumly. "If I tell them now, will they trade me before they call me up?"_ _

__"I think they'll have their hands full trying to get rid of me," Dylan says. "They might just stick you in Springfield forever."_ _

__"Just don't get knocked up," Mitch says. "Go on birth control."_ _

__Dvorak shrugs. "I mean, I have a girlfriend. I'm not really worried about getting knocked up, but I don't really feel... I don't know. Safe, I guess."_ _

__"Could be worse," Darren says, because _that's_ what they need right now—more bad news. "I know a guy who had a bitch of a time trying to get an abortion in Florida."_ _

__"America," Mitch mutters, and even Brinksy and Dvorak nod. Being mindful of how wildly US state laws vary is something that got drilled into all of their heads before they ever left Canada, and it's something Brinksy and Dvorak have probably thought about their whole lives._ _

__Dvorak sighs. "I guess I just keep my head down, then," he says._ _

__"You're better off like that anyway," Dylan says softly. If this mess has taught him anything it's that rookies have fuck all leverage in the NHL; they can go where their contract leads or they can quit and probably never come back. Mitch takes his hand and holds it tightly. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't really have to; they've had the conversation enough times._ _

__"Well this is depressing," Brinksy says, and then he claps his hands together. "Ooh, pancakes!"_ _

__The mood does lighten considerably with the arrival of their food; Dylan dives face-first into his waffles, and gives Mitch a grateful look when he slides his hash browns over without comment. Then Brinksy cuts one of his pancakes in half and Juolevi spears it, swapping the pancake for a waffle._ _

__"Huh, you're right; the pancakes here are better," Juolevi says into dead silence, as everyone at the table stares and Brinksy's ears turn bright red at the tips._ _

__"Told you," Brinksy mutters, cutting into the waffle that Juolevi had put on his plate. Dylan opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Juolevi reaches out, grabs a packet of cherry jam, and puts it on Brinksy's napkin, apparently oblivious to the way everyone is now staring right at him._ _

__"Nope. I see nothing," Dvorak says, and starts inhaling his food._ _

__That, Dylan decides, is the better part of valor, so he digs into his own food._ _


	13. Chapter 13

By the time he gets out of his third prenatal appointment, Dylan's thoroughly sick of being poked and measured and tested. He knows he has to get used to it, since Dr. Weber wants to keep a close eye on him, but he doesn't have to like it. Mitch is smiling, though; he'd beamed from ear to ear when Dr. Weber measured Dylan's stomach and told them how much bigger it was already. It's crazy, how fast the baby is growing.

And it's only going to get crazier from here. Things are more or less exactly how they're supposed to be, apparently, and Dylan's pretty much done with the first trimester already. One-third of the way through the biggest thing that's ever happened to him.

"This is so cool," Mitch says when they get back in the car. He's studying the ultrasound photo. "She's getting big."

"He's going to get a lot bigger than that," Dylan replies. He's silently hoping the baby takes after Mitch. He's going to have a C-section, but that doesn't mean he wants to have a bowling ball-sized kid.

Mitch beams at him. "My mom's gonna hang this on the fridge next to the last one."

Dylan bites back a smile. "Your family's going to smother me when we get there, aren't they?"

"Yes," Mitch says, completely certain. "Don't be surprised if Chris, like, says hi to your stomach before even acknowledging either of us are there."

"Connor's started doing that too," Dylan confesses. "And the way he sounds when he does it, sometimes I wonder if he hid a stash of the good drugs."

"Baby voice," Mitch says. "Be prepared for my dad to do that. It's a little weird, but it's gonna happen."

Dylan rests a hand on his stomach. Everything he's read said the first trimester was the most risky—that if he made it this far, everything would probably be okay. "Holy shit, we're having a baby. Like, a little person. Chris and Ryan and Matt are going to be uncles. Our parents are going to be _grandparents_."

"I know," Mitch says, sounding awed. "Like, babe. You're growing a tiny human in there."

"I hope so. I mean, I hope he's little." Dylan has concerns, okay? Both he and Mitch come from hockey families.

"She takes after me," Mitch says confidently. "After my mom. She'll be really small. But not _too_ small." He rests his hand over Dylan's, lacing their fingers together on his stomach.

"I need to go shopping," Dylan says, staring at their linked hands. "Aaron recommended maternity pants? I'm gonna need those."

Mitch keeps smiling goofily, and rubs his thumb over the hem of Dylan's shirt. "Yeah, you are."

"You're coming shopping with me," Dylan commands. "Like hell am I doing that on my own."

"When we get to Toronto I'll take you wherever you want," Mitch says. Jesus, he looks like the living embodiment of a heart-eyes emoji.

"After the interview," Dylan says, rubbing the back of Mitch's hand with his thumb. "Or someone's going to take a bunch of photos, and the tabloids will break the news for us." And Sylvie will murder them both, probably.

When they're done being disgustingly cute (for now) Dylan starts the car and heads back to his billet house to pick up the last of his stuff for the road trip. It doesn't take long to load the back of the car, and then they're heading towards home. They're both a lot more prepared for the trip this time; even with a million bathroom breaks, they still make good time to Markham.

Mitch's dad hugs Dylan for a really long time. "How are you, son?" he asks, pulling back to look Dylan over. "Doing okay? You eating enough?"

Dylan laughs. "Just try and _stop _me from eating."__

__"The doctor wants him to put on more weight," Mitch cuts in. "Hockey player, y'know? Fast metabolism."_ _

__"Challenge accepted," Mitch's mom says, folding Dylan into a hug. "Don't worry, hon. We'll keep you well-fed."_ _

__Mitch rummages in his pocket. "I have a list! His doctor talked to the trainers and they figured out—"_ _

__"Oh my god, let him breathe," Chris cuts in, grinning. He ruffles Mitch's hair and pulls him into a hug. "How's it going, _Dad_?"_ _

__Mitch laughs, but Dylan can hear how hard he's smiling. He's no better, honestly. "Good, great," Mitch says. "Hey, man, help me get Dylan's stuff out of the car?"_ _

__"I can," Dylan starts, but both Chris and Mitch turn and give him identical disbelieving faces._ _

__"No," Chris says sternly, pointing at him._ _

__Dylan takes a deep breath, fighting back annoyance, and repeats his new mantra: let Mitch do whatever he can._ _

__Mrs. Marner pats his arm. "Order him around a lot," she advises. "Either he'll get sick of it or he won't, and either way, you'll get whatever you want for a while."_ _

__"Oh, hey," Chris says, waggling a hand in Dylan's direction. "Let's see the rings."_ _

__Mitch still has that blinding smile on, and Dylan can't help but smile back as he holds his hand up. "Nothing fancy," he says._ _

__Mitch's mom sniffles. "I can't believe my baby's married."_ _

__Dylan grimaces. "We're really sorry you weren't there."_ _

__"So are we," Mr. Marner says. "But we get why you boys did it like that. We would like to hold something, though. A reception sort of thing over the summer."_ _

__"Sounds good," Dylan agrees quickly. "But uh, my mom wants to have a baby shower over the summer too? You should talk, so they're not on the same day."_ _

__Mitch's mom gets a _look_ in her eyes, and Mitch groans. "Babe, you just gave her the worst idea in history."_ _

__"You're doomed," Chris adds, grinning with the ubiquitous Marner dimples._ _

__"Great," Dylan says, sighing. "So, uh, before that. Any chance I could make a sandwich?"_ _

__Mrs. Marner puts an arm around his shoulders. "Come with me, I'll sort you out."_ _

__The kitchen is fully stocked; it's not that the Murphys don't keep food around, but Mrs. Marner has clearly been to the store with feeding a pregnant hockey player in mind. She sits him down at the table and asks a couple of questions about what he likes eating right now, then she gets to work making a towering stack. He's staring lovingly at it as she works when Mitch walks in and starts laughing. "You can't divorce me to marry the sandwich," he says. "Or my mom."_ _

__Dylan sighs. "True love lost."_ _

__Mitch slings an arm around his shoulders and leans in to kiss Dylan's forehead. "I warned her about the pretzels, though, so you should be able to have your actual one true love."_ _

__"Come on, lazy," Chris calls from the doorway. "There's more stuff to put in the garage."_ _

__"Slave driver," Mitch mumbles against Dylan's forehead._ _

__"I'd help," Dylan says as Mrs. Marner puts the sandwich in front of him, "but my husband says I can't."_ _

__Mitch smiles down at him. "Most of your stuff is going in my room. I'll get Dad and Chris to help move things around."_ _

__"I'm not an invalid," Dylan says. "Let me help at least a little."_ _

__"You're not moving furniture," Mitch replies, "but you can unpack your own duffel. That thing smells like a gear bag, ugh."_ _

__Dylan raises an eyebrow. "You're seriously giving me the smelly job," he deadpans. "I mean, I'll do it, but you're going to get firsthand experience of what smells do now."_ _

__Mitch frowns. "What?"_ _

__"Brinksy wasn't kidding about our first road trip," Dylan reminds him._ _

__"Shit, I forgot." Mitch looks so embarrassed, his cheeks flaming bright red. "Okay, I changed my mind. You can, like, boss us all around or whatever. Stay away from the smelly things."_ _

__"I'm just going to eat my sandwich," Dylan says. "Let me know when it's boss time."_ _

__"Will do, babe," Mitch says, pressing another kiss to his forehead before walking back out to the car._ _

__-0-_ _

__They have to get up early the next morning so they have time to get into the Sportsnet office in Toronto and do the whole makeup and suits thing before the interview starts. Dylan's knee bounces against his will the whole time they're getting him ready to be on camera. Mitch leans over and takes his hand, which is mostly reassuring because Mitch's palm is sweating. It's nice not being the only one who's really fucking nervous._ _

__They're shuffled from the makeup room into a cosy interview room; there's a big chair and a sofa, which the woman leading them around directs them to before disappearing. She comes back a minute later with a bowl of pretzels, setting them down on a little table in front of them and shooting a smile at Mitch before disappearing again._ _

__"Babe," Dylan says fondly._ _

__Mitch blushes. "You don't interview well when you're _hangry_."_ _

__"I'm going to get pretzel dust all over me," Dylan says, but that doesn't stop him from reaching for the bowl. He munches on a few, cupping his hand under his chin to try to catch the mess._ _

__They have a few minutes to unwind before there's a knock at the door. Elliotte Friedman is smiling in at them, and Dylan's stomach drops again. He swallows hard, stands up, and holds out his hand. "Hi, Mr. Friedman. It's, uh—nice to meet you?"_ _

__"Dylan," he says warmly, shaking Dylan's hand. "And Mitch." He shakes Mitch's hand, too, and then gestures them back to their seats. "Please, call me Elliotte. I know neither of you gentlemen has done an interview like this before, so I thought we could just chat for a few minutes before the camera crew came in."_ _

__"Sounds good to me," Mitch says, resting his hand low on Dylan's back._ _

__Dylan smiles fondly at him. "I can sit down by myself, babe. I'm not going to break."_ _

__Elliotte—okay, using his first names is going to take some getting used to. Elliotte fucking Friedman laughs, and says, "I guess that answers a few questions about how things are going between you guys."_ _

__"Still married," Mitch says, smiling. "Almost two months."_ _

__Dylan takes his hand. "We've been together a _little_ longer than that, though," he says._ _

__"It was two years in January," Mitch replies immediately. "What, you thought I wouldn't remember?"_ _

__Elliotte coughs a little, but he's smiling. "So things are going well. I'm glad to hear it."_ _

__Dylan tears his eyes away from Mitch. "Everything's going really well. We're good, both our teams are in the playoffs, and I'm healthy. The baby's healthy," he adds, just to get it out there. "I'm pretty much done with the first trimester, so we're out of the danger zone."_ _

__"And you're still skating?" Elliotte asks, because his people do their research; he has to have seen pictures of Dylan at Otters practices._ _

__"No-contact," Dylan says. "And with supervision. There's always someone on the ice with me."_ _

__Elliotte nods. "Anything else you think we need to establish before we start rolling?"_ _

__"The wedding was fast but it wasn't impulsive," Mitch says. "It would've happened in another year or two anyway."_ _

__Dylan turns and blinks at him. "Yeah?"_ _

__"Yes, dumbass," Mitch says fondly. "I had _plans_."_ _

__"Okay," Elliotte says. "From my side, I want to let you know what I'll be asking about. We'll start by talking about your season, Dylan, and do a quick recap of the Otters' run to the playoffs. That will lead us into you getting scratched, at which point we can talk about your wedding and pregnancy. With me so far?"_ _

__Dylan nods, making a mental note to ask Mitch about what his apparent secret wedding plans were later. "Okay. What else?"_ _

__"I know your agent says your contract situation is off the table," Elliotte says, "but I'd like to talk about your so-called off-ice issues."_ _

__Mitch's face goes dark. "Dylan's not a drug user. Never has been, ever."_ _

__"Hey, calm down," Dylan says, putting his hand on Mitch's arm and squeezing. "Nobody actually believes Deadspin."_ _

__"And addressing it here will go a long way towards refuting their claim," Elliotte says. "Which is why I want to bring it up."_ _

__Dylan nods. "Sounds fair to me. Put the face away before the cameras roll in, babe," he says without looking at Mitch again, because he just _knows_ the scowl is still there._ _

__He hesitates for a moment. "Off the record for a minute?" Elliotte looks a little startled, but he nods. "My _off-ice issues_ come down to not being available for the Coyotes' training camp this summer," Dylan says carefully, leaving space for Elliotte to read between the lines without actually accusing anyone of anything. Sylvie coached him very precisely. "My lack of, uh, _organisation_ is a problem."_ _

__Elliotte sighs. "I figured as much." He shakes his head. "Well, we'll do what we can to get your story out there, okay? I know it's hard to believe that the media is on your side, but at least right now, we are. I am."_ _

__Okay, good. It's good that he gets it; Dylan can't be any more specific without burning bridges, and he sure as hell can't risk his future by embarrassing an NHL franchise. Gary Bettman would take it personally._ _

__"Anything else, before I call the cameras in?" Elliotte asks. "From either of you."_ _

__"I'm not looking forward to going up against the Otters in playoffs," Mitch replies. "There's no way they're an easy team to beat, even without Dylan on the ice; he's a menace behind the bench."_ _

__Dylan elbows him, smiling; he's very much _unofficially_ helping Coach. "Yeah, well, it's not like the Knights are ever easy," he says. "Still, we're going to kick your asses."_ _

__"In your dreams," Mitch shoots back._ _

__"The rivalry's still intact," Elliotte says, shaking his head and smiling._ _

__"Once a Knight," Mitch says, shrugging._ _

__"Otters for life," Dylan adds._ _

__Elliotte snorts. "I might need you to repeat that last part on the record."_ _

__"Works for me," Dylan says, grinning. "Babe?"_ _

__"Let's do this," Mitch says, grabbing Dylan's hand and squeezing it._ _

__Dylan would be lying if he said that the interview is completely painless; laying bare the intimate details of his life is pretty fucking uncomfortable, but Elliotte's great at his job, and he actively tries not to be a dick. He doesn't spring any surprise questions on them, and he's good at reeling them in when Dylan and Mitch start feeding off each other and heading down Tangent Lane. They talk a little about World Juniors, and a lot about the OHL._ _

__The draft is old news by now, but they have a new spin on it now that they can talk more about what they did behind the scenes. It was Dylan's big "meet the family" as Mitch's boyfriend; Elliotte laughs as Dylan recounts how completely unsurprised Mitch's entire family was._ _

__"I have to ask, because it's always the question," Elliotte says, "but everyone knows the two of you are close friends with Connor McDavid. How did he react to all of this?"_ _

__Dylan laughs while Mitch shakes his head and grins. "I don't think anyone was happier for us," he says. "I don't think anyone _could've_ been."_ _

__"If the hockey thing doesn't work out he could have a second career as a wedding planner," Dylan jokes._ _

__The conversation segues from there into the wedding itself, and how their families reacted. Dylan tries to keep a neutral expression on his face, but he's really glad it's not a total lie when he says his parents came around to the idea. Elliotte moves on to asking about their plans for the future. "We're going house-hunting after the season's over," Mitch says. "We're staying with my parents short-term, but we're looking forward to getting our own place and setting things up for the baby."_ _

__"Oh, that's right," Elliotte says, with 100%-fake _I totally forgot_ surprise. "Congratulations."_ _

__"Thanks," Dylan says, and his smile definitely isn't fake at all. "I'm due at the start of next season. Hockey baby."_ _

__"Hockey baby who's already spending a lot of time at the rink," Elliotte says, giving Dylan the perfect opening to talk about what he's been doing for the Otters while he's out on LTIR. From there, Elliotte segues into talking about Dylan's hockey future. "Any ideas where you might end up?"_ _

__Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Nice try."_ _

__"Had to ask," Elliotte says, chuckling. "I'm sure wherever it is will be thrilled to have you, Dylan."_ _

__"I hope so," Dylan says, shrugging. "I mean, I might be the first in the NHL but I'm not the first athlete planning to compete after having a kid. I'm not even the first hockey player." He talks a little about stumbling across Meaghan Mikkelson's blog, and how good it feels just knowing someone else has been there, done this, and made it back. "Our kid's getting Calgary Inferno swag for sure."_ _

__They go off on a brief tangent about women's hockey, but Dylan doesn't really feel equipped to talk about it much. He's kinda hoping most of this part gets cut, or that at least he doesn't end up sounding like a sexist douchebag._ _

__"I'm grateful for the opportunities I had with the Coyotes organisation," he says finally. "And I'm excited about the future. I just hope that one day everyone who dreams about being a pro athlete gets that chance."_ _

__Elliotte looks approving as he wraps up the interview, and as soon as the camera shuts off, Dylan slumps against the back of the sofa._ _

__"Thanks so much for this, Elliotte," Mitch says, holding out his hand. Somehow he's still managing a bright media smile._ _

__"Thank you both," Elliotte says, shaking Mitch's hand. "The footage will go to our production team right away, and we'll have it ready tomorrow afternoon. It'll get sent to your publicist, Dylan, so you'll have the chance to see it before we air it the day after."_ _

__Dylan nods. "That's great, thanks," He shakes Elliotte's hand and then gestures at Mitch to help him up. "Take me home before I turn into a pumpkin."_ _

__"As you wish," Mitch says, smiling goofily as he pulls Dylan to his feet. "Let's go home."_ _

__-0-_ _

__Dylan's wiped after the interview, so he murders another sandwich and curls up for a nap. Mitch climbs in with him to play the role of trusty body pillow, but he brings his phone. He's reading something funny when Dylan drifts off to sleep, smiling and clearly biting his lip to keep from laughing. He wakes Dylan up for dinner, and then they curl up on the sofa, watching TV while Mitch tells him all about Connor's opinions on how the interview went, which is interesting, considering it hasn't aired yet, and he hasn't seen it._ _

__"McMedia Jesus," Dylan jokes._ _

__Mitch snorts. "I mean, if anyone has precognitive media-related powers, it's definitely Connor."_ _

__"Ah, Pierre. I knew I felt a disturbance in the force," Dylan replies, in his best Jedi impression._ _

__"Don't," Mitch says, shuddering. "That name is forbidden in this house."_ _

__Dylan makes a wounded face and cups his stomach. "But that's my favourite name for him," he whines._ _

__"Veto," Mitch replies immediately._ _

__"Fine," Dylan pouts, but he can't actually hold his expression for long, and when Mitch pokes him he laughs. "Okay, okay. He can be the anti-Pierre," he concedes. "Erreip?"_ _

__"We're not naming her anything related to that name," Mitch says firmly. "Not unless her middle name can be Don Cherry."_ _

__"One, that's two names, and two, holy shit, no," Dylan says, horrified. "Fine, you win."_ _

__Mitch starts singing _Cherry Baby_ and Dylan shoves him off the sofa._ _

__"Okay, okay," Mitch says, grinning at him from the floor. "We're totally telling Davo we're naming her Pierre Don Cherry Marner-Strome, though, right?"_ _

__"Absolutely," Dylan says, grinning._ _

__Dylan gets tired again not long after that, so they head to bed for the night. He conks out pretty much the second his head hits the pillow, and wakes up to Mitch combing his fingers through his hair._ _

__"Mmmm, hi," Dylan says sleepily. "Why am I awake?"_ _

__"Because it's time to get up," Mitch says. "Guess the interview really wore you out. I don't think you moved once."_ _

__"Holy shit." Dylan blinks at him for a few times and then has an amazing realisation. "Does that mean it's time for breakfast?"_ _

__"It is," Mitch says, grinning. "Mom says she's making waffles."_ _

__Dylan sighs happily. "She's _my_ mom now."_ _

__"I mean, yeah," Mitch says. "That's how this married thing works."_ _

__"I knew there'd be perks." Dylan gives Mitch a filthy look and cups his dick in his hand._ _

__Mitch moves into his hand, but he rolls away before Dylan can get into it. "You haven't had my mom's waffles," he says apologetically. "But hey, after we eat?"_ _

__Dylan flops onto his back and sighs melodramatically. "The honeymoon is over."_ _

__Mitch leans in to peck him on the lips. "I love you, but you need to stop judging my choices until after you have breakfast," he says. "C'mon, babe. Feed the speck."_ _

__"You two can't gang up on me before he's even born," Dylan complains. Mitch opens his mouth, probably to object, but Dylan's stomach grumbles loudly. He glares at it in betrayal. "Hey, c'mon, who's growing you? Be on my side!"_ _

__"She's not _on_ your side, she's inside," Mitch says immediately, huge smile on his face._ _

__Dylan swats him. "Dad joke."_ _

__"Brinksy forwarded me a list of them," Mitch says. "Apparently he Googled."_ _

__Dylan tilts his head. "Is there a reason he Googled for dad jokes? Should we be worried that he knocked up Juo after all?"_ _

__"I'm pretty sure it was specifically to make fun of us," Mitch says. "But everyone gets a physical before the playoffs start, so I guess we'll see?"_ _

__"You need to forward that email to me," Dylan says seriously, "so I can print it out and laminate it. And when Brinksy has a kid we'll show him: the Strome-Marners repay their debts."_ _

__"Absolutely," Mitch says, nodding. "But first, seriously. Breakfast."_ _

__Dylan sighs but rolls out of bed and follows Mitch downstairs._ _

__The waffles are amazing; Dylan wants to tell Mitch they're not better than morning sex, but he's honestly not sure whether or not he'd be lying. The speck seems to be happy enough, anyway, because Dylan's stomach stops grumbling. He washes syrup off his hands and checks his phone, which is unsurprisingly full of McLeod-bursts._ _

__Mikey's first text reads _y u let yr boi kidnap u? Markham sucks.__ _

__Dylan snorts and replies, _so does my boi.__ _

___gross,_ Mikey replies, but there are a bunch of happy-looking smileys with it, so Dylan assumes he's not too grossed out. _me n ry n ur matt r gonna rescue u!!__ _

__Dylan shows the text to Mitch and raises an eyebrow. "Want to help me pull off the best Juniors prank ever?"_ _

__"Probably," Mitch says. "What are we doing?"_ _

__"Two words," Dylan replies, "maternity pants." The look of unholy glee on Mitch's face is enough of an answer, so Dylan holds his hand out for a fistbump. "Matt knows but he won't have said anything," Dylan continues. "So if we're vague about exactly what kind of shopping we have planned, we can get him too."_ _

__"Excellent," Mitch says, grinning. "Let's go get dressed so we're ready to tell them the news when they get here, and we can drag them maternity shopping before they protest."_ _

__Dylan races him up the stairs, because it's the closest he gets to competing right now. Mitch doesn't let him win, because he's an over-achieving asshole just like Dylan. It doesn't take them long to get ready; years upon years of hockey means that they're both able to shower and get dressed in no time at all, so they're lounging in the living room when Ryan McLeod texts _broooooooo we are HERE_ with a photo of the top floor of the house, because Ryan is awful at photos. Dylan leans over and kisses Mitch, pressing him back into the sofa... and then he shoves up off him, racing for the door._ _

__"Worst husband I've ever had," Mitch groans from the sofa._ _

__"At least I'm not a loser," Dylan tosses back as he yanks open the front door and runs for the car._ _

__Matt waves at him from the driver's seat and raises an eyebrow. Dylan shrugs as innocently as he can manage, and Matt just rolls his eyes._ _

__Dylan slaps his hand on the hood of the car. "Loser squishes into the middle seat in the back." He's pretty sure Mitch would've taken it anyway, so Dylan could sit by the window and make an emergency exit if he needed to._ _

__"Move your ass, Mikey," Matt says. "Dylan's riding shotgun." Then he starts snickering._ _

__Dylan rolls his eyes, but Mikey's giving him a _you're super weird, dude_ look, so he smiles as widely as he can. "Move it, McLeod. Big brother front seat rights."_ _

__Mikey gets out and walks around the car, waiting a minute for Mitch to scramble into place before he piles in. Dylan snorts. "A knight between two clouds."_ _

__Matt waits until Dylan's buckled in and then beams at him. "Can I let them in on the joke? Pretty please? I haven't gotten to tell anyone yet, and Ryan got to tell JT."_ _

__"Ryan didn't tell JT," Dylan corrects, "and because of that JT almost had a heart attack."_ _

__"JT figured it out on his own," Mitch adds from the backseat._ _

__"Well, I'm not figuring anything out, because you're all cryptic bastards," Mikey says. "What's going on?"_ _

__"Not a bastard, that's for sure," Matt says cheerily before Dylan can say anything. "I mean, they're married."_ _

__"Who's married?" Ryan asks, looking up from frowning at his terrible photos._ _

__Mitch waves his left hand in front of Ryan's face. "Guess." Ryan's frown deepens, so Dylan turns around and sticks his hand out too._ _

__"Whoa, wait, holy shit," Ryan says, grabbing Dylan's hand. He grabs Mitch's hand with the other and looks back and forth between them. "You guys got _married_?"_ _

__Matt pokes Dylan in the shoulder. " _Please_ can I tell them?"_ _

__Dylan grins. "Only if you get your phone out first so that we can record this beautiful moment."_ _

__"You do it," Matt says, holding his phone out. "Your hands are steadier than mine."_ _

__Dylan starts recording and gives Matt a thumbs up._ _

__"So when two people love each other very much," Matt begins theatrically, "sometimes they do dumb things like banging at international tournaments without using condoms."_ _

__"That's true," Dylan agrees. "Not the smartest move I ever made."_ _

__"And if one of those people happens to have the best brother ever," Matt continues, "he is totally forgiven, and allowed to ride shotgun, even though he didn't invite me to his shotgun wedding."_ _

__Mitch sighs loudly. "It wasn't a shotgun wedding," he says, long-suffering. "It's not like we're _staying together for the kid_."_ _

__"Whoops, my bad; you just pulled the trigger early on the wedding," Matt says, and then he starts snickering again. "Premature—"_ _

__Dylan punches him in the arm. "What if the kid wants to see this some day?"_ _

__"Holy fuck," Mikey cuts in, leaning forward. "Wait. You're _pregnant_?"_ _

__Mitch taps him on the shoulder and Mikey turns to him. Mitch holds out his phone, smiling goofily, and Dylan catches sight of the ultrasound photo._ _

__Mikey grabs it off him. "Holy sh—" He catches himself at the last minute. "Holy shivers, that's a baby."_ _

__Ryan leans across. "I wanna see!"_ _

__"It's totally a baby," Dylan says, grinning. "Babe, pull up the video."_ _

__Mikey ignores everyone and just stares at Mitch's phone. "That's a really real baby."_ _

__"Let me _see_ , asshole!" Ryan complains._ _

__"Don't swear in front of the kid!" Mikey snaps back._ _

__"You _just did_!"_ _

__"Before I knew it was an _actual baby_ ," Mikey says, jabbing his finger at the screen._ _

__"Children," Dylan says mildly, and they both look up at him guiltily. Dylan can't help it; he cracks up._ _

__"Nice Dad voice," Matt says, grinning._ _

__"I get a lot of practice," Dylan says, still laughing. "So, yeah. I'm super pregnant! Which is why our outing today is going to involve buying me maternity pants."_ _

__There's a trio of howls as Matt, Ryan, and Mikey realise they've stumbled into a trap. Dylan catches Mitch's eye and they both lose it._ _

__-0-_ _

__Matt is easily converted to the pants-buying campaign as soon as he realises it's something that Ryan hasn't gotten to do, and from there it's the Marner-Strome contingent against the McLeods. By the time they're parking downtown, Matt's asking Dylan about shirts and stretchy underwear, too._ _

__Mikey's face is blank; he seems to have decided to stoic his way through this so he can prove he's better than his little brother. It probably won't be hard, since Ryan keeps muttering _pregnant_ to himself under his breath._ _

__"Listen, guys," Dylan says as they're getting ready to leave the car. "Nobody really knows yet? So, like, I don't know how inconspicuous five hockey players buying maternity clothing can be, but if we could try not to draw a ton of attention, that'd be great."_ _

__Mikey nods seriously. "I just have one question."_ _

__Mitch snorts. "Only one? Really?"_ _

__Mikey turns to him and raises an eyebrow. "Trust me, when Big Matt's home for the summer you're going to get _all_ the questions," he says ominously._ _

__Dylan winces and makes a mental note to remind Mitch: the McLeods don't know him the way Connor does. And Dylan's known them all his life; in some ways he has three extra, overprotective brothers. Double brothers, since there are both his actual brothers Ryan and Matt and his fake McLeod-brothers Matt and Ryan. It's where the whole Big Matt, Little Matt and Big Ryan, Little Ryan thing came from; some days it's the only way to keep track of who's who. It's a bizarre coincidence, and Dylan has congratulated himself and Mikey loudly in the past on being the only ones out of their combined families with unique names._ _

__"I look forward to the Inquisition," Mitch says, rolling his eyes. "What's the one for now?"_ _

__"Who the hell is JT and why did he get to know before us?"_ _

__"Big Ryan's roommate," Matt says casually. "You know, JT. Captain of the Islanders?"_ _

__" _John Tavares_ ," Ryan squeaks._ _

__"That's the one," Dylan confirms. "And he got to know before you because I took a vacation in lovely Brooklyn, and he tried to share his beer."_ _

__"But he's just a roommate," Mikey complains. "We're practically family." Then his jaw drops as an idea apparently hits him. "Is Big Ryan sleeping with _John Tavares_?"_ _

__"I did _not_ ask," Dylan says. He's got his suspicions, but he doesn't know for sure, and he wouldn't out them like this anyway. "And he's not _just_ a roommate. He's the captain, and Big Ryan's friend." He waits a beat. "And, like. He's John Tavares."_ _

__"Plus, JT is a local Mississauga boy," Mitch points out. "So Ryan wouldn't be a _traitor_ like Dylan." He sits back and folds his arms, apparently content to troll the McLeods with maybe-maybe-not going to John Tavares' big gay Strome wedding some day._ _

__"Anyway," Dylan says before Mikey can really dig his heels in. "I need pants. You all need to not make a scene. Are we good?"_ _

__"Actually," Ryan pipes up. "I mean, if you want it to look less suspicious, maybe we should make kind of a scene?"_ _

__"If you guys get Dylan banned from Babies ‘R' Us I'm totally telling your mom," Matt threatens._ _

__"Not that kind of scene," Ryan says. "I just mean, like. If we make it like a joke, like someone dared us to do it, then we're just dumb hockey kids doing dumb shit."_ _

__Mikey's eyes light up. "I'll buy some, too," he says. "Really ugly ones. Do they make them in, like, animal print?"_ _

__As it turns out they do, in fact, make maternity pants in animal print "Ooh, they're so stretchy," Mikey says, modelling them in front of a mirror. "I bet these would even fit over goalie pads."_ _

__Dylan shakes his head and walks over to the much smaller paternity section. Aaron had a _lot_ to say about finding pants that don't crush your nuts when your belly expands._ _

__Mitch drifts behind him, and when Dylan goes into the dressing room to try on his non-animal print pants, he leers. "Privacy at last."_ _

__"Privacy for me," Dylan says, shoving him away and laughing at Mitch's wounded look. "Just remember who prioritised food over sex this morning."_ _

__"But waffles," Mitch says mournfully as Dylan shuts the door._ _

__Dylan unbuttons his jeans and lets them drop, sighing with relief as the pressure comes off his belly button. Then he lifts his shirt so he can check in the mirror. Damn, his skin looks red and irritated like he's just come off a shift and stripped off his UnderArmour. He pokes at the line across his stomach. "Good thing I'm here shopping," he mutters to himself._ _

__The paternity pants are stretchy and smooth; there's no pressure, no button pushing at him uncomfortably. He might never wear another pair of pants again. He unlocks the door. "Hey, check this out!" He does a twirl for Mitch, but when he turns back around Mitch isn't smiling. He's just kind of staring, like he saw a teammate take a puck to the face. Dylan looks down. "They don't look _that_ bad," he says, but suddenly he's not sure._ _

__Mitch staggers forward and rests his hand on Dylan's belly. "You're showing. I thought _maybe_ , but I wasn't sure."_ _

__Dylan grabs his wrist and backs them into the fitting room. "I am?" he whispers as the door clicks shut. "Like. You can see?"_ _

__Mitch turns him so he's standing side-on to the mirror. "Maybe not in your regular pants, but in these? Look."_ _

__"Oh my god," Dylan says, staring at his reflection. It's not a ton, probably not something someone who didn't know him would even notice, but Dylan can see it like this. "Oh my god."_ _

__"That is the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen," Mitch says breathlessly._ _

__"That's," Dylan says, and his breath catches in his throat as he brushes the bump with his fingertips. "Babe."_ _

__Mitch grins at him, eyes bright. "Baby."_ _

__"Oh my god," Dylan repeats, reaching for Mitch and burying his face in his hair._ _

__He's startled by a loud knock at the door. "Is everything alright?" a distinctly cranky-sounding saleswoman asks._ _

__Dylan lets go of Mitch and opens the door, wiping his eyes. "It's fine, I just..." He trails off, and his hand drifts to his stomach automatically._ _

__Her face softens. "It happens to everyone, honey."_ _

__He laughs a little. "Sorry. I know it's one to a room, but it was the first time we noticed."_ _

__"It's okay," she says, smiling. "I just wanted to check." Her eyes cut over to the maternity section. "We've had some issues today, is all."_ _

__Dylan really, really doesn't want to know what Matt and the McLeods talked each other into doing. "No issues. Just.. yeah." He laughs a little. "The most comfortable pants of my life, and being able to tell."_ _

__The saleswoman laughs. "I appreciate the endorsement. Is there anything else you need to see? Are you after casual wear, or something more formal?"_ _

__"Probably everything," Dylan admits. "I never want to put jeans back on again."_ _

__"We can make that happen," she says. "In fact, when you get up to the register, have your partner take the tags off the ones you're wearing, and you can wear them right out of the store."_ _

__"And he definitely needs a suit that fits," Mitch adds. "Our parents want to do a real wedding reception in the summer."_ _

__She glances down, catching sight of their rings. "Congratulations," she says warmly. "If it's more than a month out, you should probably wait on getting the suit. You're going to be showing a lot more as time goes on, so there's no use buying something that's a little more fitted like that at this point."_ _

__Dylan sighs. "I mean, I'll need it between now and then for work. Might as well get it now."_ _

__The saleswoman spends a solid half hour with them, helping Dylan find everything he could possibly want. He ends up with way more clothing than he figured he'd be getting, but it's definitely all stuff he's going to need. He's already in love with the light, soft undershirts she picked out; his nipples have started getting puffy and sore in a _bad_ way, so he picked one to wear out of the store along with the paternity pants._ _

__The cashier smiles when Dylan hands over the tags off of everything he's still wearing and helps them fold all of it into bags. The terrible trio are nowhere to be seen, so Dylan settles for letting his knight in shining hockey helmet carry everything._ _

__He bangs on the door when they get to the car; Matt pops the trunk and unlocks the doors. "Did you buy the entire store?" he asks as Dylan slides into the car._ _

__"Yes," Dylan says. "What did you three even do?"_ _

__"We made a scene," Ryan says, satisfied, as Mitch climbs in. "Mikey tried on every awful pair of pants he could find and made sure everyone overheard that it was for a hockey bet. So if there's rumours about you guys being in there, well. Now it's for hockey."_ _

__Dylan looks at Mitch; Mitch wordlessly holds his hand up for a fist bump. Dylan pounds it out and shakes his head. "You guys are too easy."_ _

__"That's definitely you," Matt says. "I mean. You've got the ultrasound to prove it, man."_ _

__"Yeah, but Dylan doesn't have clown pants," Mitch replies, elbowing Mikey._ _

__"Clown pants you'll have to wear in public, since you just told everyone you lost a bet," Dylan adds. This day turned out way better than he planned; he'd had vague thoughts of embarrassing the McLeods, but here they are providing the raw material to prank _themselves_._ _

__Mikey sniffs. "Whatever. If you think those pants _aren't_ going to become a Steelheads locker room thing, then I don't even know you anymore, Dylan."_ _

__Dylan turns to Ryan and puts on his Serious Captain Face. "I expect video."_ _

__"Nooo!" Mikey whines. "You can't turn my baby brother against me!"_ _

__"Too late," Ryan says holding his hand out to Dylan. "You got it, man."_ _

__They shake on it while Mikey loudly and ungrammatically claims they're both the worst. All in all, Dylan thinks, the day has been a success._ _

__-0-_ _

__The McLeods have some sort of family thing later in the day, so Matt pretty much kicks Mitch and Dylan out at the curb when they get back to Mitch's house. Dylan's phone buzzes as Mitch and Ryan are carrying the bags inside; it's from Sylvie, letting him know that she's gotten the pre-release of the interview and that it looks good, and that she's forwarded it along to him._ _

__"You okay, dude?" Mikey asks, trying to get a look at Dylan's phone. "Kinda turning green, there."_ _

__"There's, uh," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. "We did an interview. It's gonna air tomorrow."_ _

__Mikey hustles Dylan into the living room, shoving him toward the sofa. "Sit down before you pass out."_ _

__"Dyls?" Mitch says, popping up from out of nowhere. "What's wrong?"_ _

__"Media makes him nervous," Mikey replies, sitting down next to Dylan and rubbing his back. "He's gotten better than he used to be, but..."_ _

__Mitch snorts. "Since when?"_ _

__"Since he threw up on my shoes when he was fourteen," Mikey replies._ _

__Dylan elbows him in the ribs. "I had the flu."_ _

__"You had the ‘my older brother's going to be a high draft pick someday soon and people are going to ask me about it' flu," Mikey says, rolling his eyes._ _

__"I had the actual flu," Dylan says. "It didn't help me keep a lid on my nerves."_ _

__Mikey turns to Mitch and raises an eyebrow. "Ryan went fifth overall. And then our boy here started playing on the Marlboros bantam team when McDavid was tearing up midget. We all got a crash course in not answering questions."_ _

__Mitch sits down and stares at them, fascinated. Apparently he's thirsty for pre-Otters gossip. Dylan wants to crawl into a hole and die, or alternately stick a gag in Mikey's mouth._ _

__"Anyway," he says loudly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and thrusting it at Mitch. "I heard from Sylvie. It's airing tomorrow."_ _

__"Should I tell Big Matt?" Mikey offers. "Let him know there's something to keep his mouth shut about?"_ _

__Dylan hesitates a second before nodding. "Yeah, let him know. Maybe not the whole thing, but that I'm gonna be all over Sportsnet." He grimaces. "Not that I don't trust him to not spill between now and tomorrow, but if one of his teammates overhears..."_ _

__"Got it." Mikey pulls Dylan into a brief sideways hug and then lets go, ruffling Dylan's hair before getting up to leave. "You know where to find us if asses need to be kicked."_ _

__"I'll add your names to the posse," Dylan promises._ _

__Mikey holds his hand out to Mitch. "Welcome to the madhouse." When Mitch takes his hand to shake it, Mikey pulls him into a bro hug that has a suspicious amount of back-slapping; Dylan's probably going to have to check Mitch for bruises later. "Take care of our boy and his cargo."_ _

__"Mine now," Mitch says. "I put a ring on it and everything. I don't need you to threaten me into taking good care of them."_ _

__Dylan sighs. "He wouldn't be a McLeod if he didn't threaten." Mikey and Little Ryan probably played rock-paper-scissors for who got to do the honours; he's just happy Big Matt is away at college._ _

__"And I wouldn't be me if I let him without commenting on it," Mitch says, shrugging. "Now we all know where we stand, right?"_ _

__Mikey cracks a smile. "I like this one, Dyls; he has backbone. You can keep him."_ _

__"Oh, good," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "Getting rid of him at this point would mean a divorce, and that's a lot of work."_ _

__Mikey gives Mitch a shove towards the sofa. "Now _kiss_." He's cackling as he leaves._ _

__Dylan waits until he hears the front door close before slumping against Mitch. "Sylvie sent the interview," he says. "So we can see it before tomorrow."_ _

__"That's a good thing, right?" Mitch replies, sitting down and taking Dylan's hand._ _

__"What if it's terrible?" Dylan blurts out. "What if it makes us look awful, or like the Coyotes were right to dump me?" He tries for a deep breath and mostly fails. "What if this fucks your future with the Leafs?"_ _

__"Babe," Mitch says gently, squeezing Dylan's hand. "Why didn't you tell me you're freaking out?"_ _

__"I wasn't," Dylan mutters. "Well. A little. But I wasn't until I just realised that this is now out of our hands."_ _

__Mitch leans in and kisses Dylan on the cheek. "It's not out of Sylvie's hands, though. If it was bad she wouldn't have sent it to you without a novel of notes about how she's going to rip Sportsnet a new one."_ _

__"And we have right of refusal," Dylan says, closing his eyes and squeezing Mitch's hand hard. "So we should watch it, right? If we need to make them stop, the sooner the better."_ _

__"We should get food and then watch it," Mitch amends._ _

__Oh. Huh. That... might have a little to do with why Dylan feels like crap. "Sandwiches," he says decisively. "I want two. And some orange juice."_ _

__Mitch grins. "As you wish."_ _

__They split sandwich-making duties for efficiency purposes; Dylan forces himself to not inhale both of his, and somehow still manages to finish before Mitch._ _

__"Popcorn?" Mitch asks as he picks at the last of his food._ _

__"I'll just grab some pretzels," Dylan says. "And orange juice. We're gonna need to get more."_ _

__Mitch rinses their plates and puts them in the dishwasher while Dylan wipes down the counter, and then they have no more excuses to put off watching the interview._ _

__"C'mon," Mitch says, holding out his hand. Dylan gives him the orange juice, just to be difficult, and Mitch rolls his eyes and grabs Dylan's hand with his free hand._ _

__They're sitting on the sofa, laptop open and file cued up, when Dylan takes a deep breath and blurts out his ugliest fear. "Friedman said his people talked to my parents, too. What if they—"_ _

__"Then we refuse to let them air it," Mitch says quietly but firmly. "That's what we do."_ _

__"I just—I really fucking wish I didn't have to do this yet," Dylan admits. "I wanted to wait until my trade was done." But he'd talked it over with Aaron, and letting the Coyotes control the narrative is destroying his reputation. They're making it harder for any trade to happen, god knows why._ _

__"I know," Mitch says, disentangling their hands so he can put his arms over Dylan's shoulders. "I know, babe. I'm sorry."_ _

__Dylan takes a series of deep breaths. This is a calculated risk, planned carefully by people smarter than Dylan to nudge the story back towards the truth without vilifying the Yotes and pissing off the NHL at large. It'll be okay; Sylvie won't let it be anything else. "Let's watch it," he says finally. "Let's just... watch it."_ _

__Mitch hits play and hugs Dylan close._ _

__There's nothing really surprising for the first several minutes; the interview was only yesterday, and for a while it's just that, switching back and forth on the camera angles. Friedman looks as calm and composed as he always does in his interviews, and aside from the way he and Mitch keep smiling at each other while the other one is talking, Dylan thinks they look decent, too._ _

__"We're never going to live this down," Mitch says, staring at the dopey look he's giving Dylan on the screen._ _

__"You look at me like that all the time," Dylan points out. "Everyone already knows."_ _

__Mitch just presses his nose into the side of Dylan's neck and keeps watching._ _

__They cut away from the interview after Dylan breaks the news about the baby; Freidman starts narrating something about talking to the Stromes and the Marners as pictures of Mitch and Dylan as kids flash across the screen. Dylan takes a deep breath when Mitch's parents pop up on the screen. It's a little disconcerting; they're sitting on the same sofa that Dylan and Mitch are currently on._ _

__They talk a little about how being hockey parents meant they had to let Mitch go before they were ready, and Dylan has to bite his lip. Moving to Erie was hard for him, sure, but he never really stopped to think that being away from his family meant they had to be away from him too. The whole wedding-and-baby thing coming right on the heels of Dylan and Mitch being halfway across the world for Christmas can't have been easy._ _

__"We're very proud of Mitch," Mrs. Marner ways warmly on screen. "Dylan, too. They're amazing young men." The interviewer asks if the wedding took the family by surprise, and Mrs. Marner laughs. "Not exactly. Dylan's been part of the family for a long time."_ _

__Dylan glances at Mitch, who's grinning and blushing at the television._ _

__Mr. Marner smiles. "It's a little sooner than we figured it'd be, but it's not something we didn't see coming."_ _

__"Babe," Dylan says, and Mitch smiles at him._ _

__"I had plans," he says quietly. "I told you."_ _

__Dylan snuggles into him. "You're going to tell me all about them once we're done with this," he commands._ _

__"Okay," Mitch says easily, tightening his arm around Dylan's shoulders._ _

__There are a couple of short clips from their brothers, saying pretty much exactly what Dylan expected, and the the story transitions pretty much exclusively to hockey. Well, hockey and Dylan's uncertain future in it. There are some short clips from Dylan's parents that he can tell were heavily edited down to remove cursing. They do very firmly support Dylan, though, which is more than he was expecting._ _

__He can feel a lot of the tension drain out of him as he curls even further into Mitch, watching as Friedman appears on the screen again, cutting back to the end of the interview. Friedman says something cheesy about them being two bright prospects with an exciting future ahead, and Dylan's eyes start prickling. "The rivalry narrative might be over," Friedman concludes, "but the story is just beginning."_ _

__The Sportsnet music fades in over a black screen with "TRANSITION" typed on it, and then the video ends._ _

__"That was okay," Mitch says cautiously._ _

__"That was great," Dylan says, trying to keep himself from crying. "I thought it'd—I mean, look, I'm still not happy we _had_ to, but that's..."_ _

__Mitch grins. "It's about as close to the truth as we want people to get."_ _

__"Yeah," Dylan says. "Yeah, that."_ _

__"Wait," Mitch says suddenly. "Uh. I just remembered that my grandma totally watches Sportsnet for hockey highlights."_ _

__"Oh, shit, same," Dylan says, scrambling for his phone. He hesitates before he dials. "I'll call mine while you call yours?"_ _

__"I'm right here," Mitch promises, leaning over to kiss Dylan quickly before dialling his phone._ _

__It's honestly short and sweet; Grandpa cries a little, which Dylan was completely expecting, and so does Gram, which he wasn't. They sound happy for him, at least, which is great. He never thought they wouldn't be; they've always treated him like he knew what was best for himself. He's just glad he remembered to call them before the interview aired._ _

__"Yeah, Grams, love you too," Mitch says, dropping his phone onto his lap just after Dylan hangs up. "Shit, that would've been bad."_ _

__Dylan laughs. "I'm glad you remembered."_ _

__"Me too." Mitch smiles and kisses him softly before pulling back, resting his forehead against Dylan's. "So. I totally had a plan."_ _

__Dylan smiles a little. "Yeah, the plan."_ _

__"I was going to ask before our third anniversary," Mitch says. "I hadn't figured everything out yet but I had a deadline."_ _

__"I would've said yes, obviously," Dylan replies. "But why the deadline?"_ _

__"So we'd have at least eighteen months to plan a summer wedding." Mitch rolls his eyes, like that was obvious to anyone with half a brain._ _

__Okay, the summer part Dylan gets because cramming your personal life into the off season is just how hockey works. "So we'd be married in a few years anyway," he says. "According to your plan."_ _

__"We'd be married by the time I turned twenty-one," Mitch clarifies, picking up Dylan's hand and kissing his wedding ring. "I wanted to be able to visit my husband in Arizona and take him out for a drink without getting arrested."_ _

__"A drink without..." Dylan repeats, trailing off. He shakes his head after a moment, a helplessly fond smile spilling across his face. "You're ridiculous."_ _

__"I was willing to wait a little," Mitch says. "Didn't want to wait forever though."_ _

__"Well," Dylan says, shrugging. "I guess you didn't have to wait at all, in the long run."_ _

__"Yeah." Mitch leans in and kisses him breathless, as if the breakneck speed at which their relationship has sped up is the best, most exciting thing he's ever done._ _

__"Let's go upstairs," Dylan says when Mitch pulls back to lean their foreheads together. "We should take a nap, and then..." He smiles and grabs Mitch's ass. "Well, then I guess we'll see."_ _

__Mitch groans. "You _promised_. And I have to go back to London tomorrow."_ _

__Dylan kisses him, short and sweet. "Let's nap, then. The sooner we nap, the sooner we can wake up." He glances around to make sure they're still alone, then lowers his voice. "And the sooner we wake up, the sooner we can fuck."_ _

__Mitch gets off the sofa with more speed than grace and holds his hand out for Dylan. "Let's go nap, then."_ _


	14. Chapter 14

Dylan's only human, so they make out lazily for a while before he falls asleep. He's only out for an hour, and when he wakes up, Mitch is sitting at his desk, quietly talking on the phone.

"—yeah, just, thanks," he says. He nods twice. "Okay. Thanks again. Bye."

"Huh?" Dylan asks sleepily, and Mitch looks up and smiles.

"Leafs," he says, shrugging a little. "I thought it'd be a good idea to give them a heads up that one of their rookies is, y'know, gonna be all over Sportsnet tomorrow."

Dylan frowns. "I didn't think of that."

"I did," Mitch says lightly. "It's all good. I got the You Can Play speech and everything." He grins. "Oh, and I got an email. The Knights' training staff sent me a copy of my physical. I'm G+, too."

Oh. "So it really could've happened to either one of us." Somehow that makes Dylan feel better—less like he made a stupid mistake, and more like they're in this together. Not that they weren't already, but it's kinda nice to know that Mitch is in the same boat.

"Yeah," Mitch says. "I asked them to get me on birth control when I get back, but for today we're gonna have to just be extra-careful with the condom, I guess."

Dylan rolls over and kisses him softly. "That's my plan."

"Good," Mitch says, smiling between kisses. "That's a good plan."

Dylan deepens the kiss, sliding his hand into Mitch's hair and tugging. Mitch goes easily, tilting his head where Dylan directs him. He gasps into Dylan's mouth when Dylan rubs his thumb over Mitch's hip, desperate for any kind of skin contact Dylan wants to give. They both have to make tonight count, have to get their fill of each other before they're apart for basically a month through the playoff run.

"Gonna make this so good," he murmurs against Mitch's lips. "So good for you."

"Please," Mitch begs, arching into Dylan's touch.

Dylan kisses him again before pulling back a little. "Stuff," he says. "Lube, condoms, towel." He's definitely going to go overboard with prep; the towel will definitely be necessary. He wants Mitch desperate by the time he slides inside.

"Yeah," Mitch says, blinking at him a little. "Uh. What?"

Dylan grins at him and gets up. "Strip. You want to be naked for this."

"I can do that," Mitch says. "You're getting the stuff?" When Dylan nods, Mitch goes on. "Lock the door on your way back in."

Dylan pats his thigh before getting off the bed and heading for the bathroom. He grabs two towels from the closet—better safe than sorry—and heads back, locking the door behind him.

Mitch is naked except for his boxers, legs spread so he can palm his cock through the fabric. "Want to take these off me?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah," Dylan says, crossing the room quickly and dropping the towels on the bed. He puts a knee on the mattress next to Mitch, then leans back. "Wait, lube now," he says, reaching for the drawer in the bedstand. He's not going to want to get up once he gets Mitch completely naked. He drops the lube and a condom on the bed and bends down so he can follow with his teeth as he drags Mitch's boxers down.

"Babe," Mitch groans, grabbing Dylan's shoulder and just holding on as Dylan keeps moving.

He twitches when Dylan's tongue runs over the inside of his thigh. "Ticklish?" Dylan teases.

"Apparently," Mitch says. "Not like I've got a lot of experience with people touching me there—" He breaks off and laughs when Dylan blows gently against his thigh.

"I have secret knowledge now," Dylan says smugly. He drags Mitch's boxers the rest of the way off, biting at his ankle just for the hell of it. "Get on your side."

Mitch rolls over immediately, then cranes his head so he can look at Dylan. "Like this?"

"Just like that." Dylan kisses him and encourages Mitch to bend his knee, sliding his leg forward so he's exposed. "Mmm, perfect," Dylan murmurs. He squeezes Mitch's ass and then splays his fingers, so they're resting _almost_ where Mitch wants them.

"Dyls," Mitch sighs out.

"Ready?" Dylan asks, pressing another kiss to Mitch's skin.

Mitch nods his head, so Dylan picks up the lube. He grabs one of the towels and tucks in under Mitch's hip, then squeezes lube into the palm of his hand. It's cold, no surprise, so Dylan rubs his hands together, getting everything slick and warm.

Mitch inhales sharply when Dylan drags a fingertip over his hole.

"Breathe," Dylan murmurs. He keeps his movements deliberate, dragging his finger against Mitch's hole over and over until Mitch relaxes and starts pushing back against him a little. Dylan opens him up slowly, letting Mitch set the pace. He goes back for more lube a lot. It's not like they're going to run out, not with how much they have, and more is definitely better.

Mitch's breath hitches faster and faster as Dylan keeps fingering him, stretching him. "I'm," he says, and his voice is hoarse. He clears his throat and tries again. "C'mon, babe. I'm ready."

Dylan grins and scrapes Mitch's earlobe with his teeth. "Not done with you yet."

"I fucking," Mitch starts, then gasps and pushes his hips back as Dylan thrusts his fingers. "Fucking hope you're not."

Dylan keeps it going until his wrist aches and Mitch is shaking. He's got three fingers working easily in and out, and when he rests his head against the back of Mitch's neck to take a shaky breath, Mitch pushes back against him. "Dyls," he says, and he sounds like he's close to his breaking point.

"It's okay, I've got you." Dylan eases his fingers out and wipes them on the towel so he won't fumble the condom.

"I need you," Mitch says, turning onto his back and grabbing for Dylan. He leans up and kisses Dylan desperately.

Dylan kisses him back just as hard, because the feeling is 100% mutual. Mitch got under his skin long before they were ever a couple, but the past two years have been so intense that really, no-one should be surprised this is where they ended up.

Mitch softens the kiss, makes it lighter and easier, until he pulls away and smiles up at Dylan. "Love you," he says quietly.

Dylan drops his head onto Mitch's shoulder. "Me too. So fucking much." Thinking about everything that's ahead of them is overwhelming sometimes, but there's no-one on the world Dylan would rather fight through the storm with. Not even Connor. He runs his hand down Mitch's chest before tapping at his hip. "Turn?"

Mitch hesitates a little. "Can we do it like this?"

"Yeah. Fuck, yeah, of course."

Mitch leans up to kiss him once before settling back against the bed. "Let's do this."

Dylan gets a pillow under Mitch's hips and kneels between his legs. He grabs the condom package again and makes sure to tear it open carefully. The last thing they need is another surprise right now, so he takes his time putting it on. He feels Mitch's eyes burning into him as he slicks himself up. He glances up, and sure enough, Mitch is staring at his dick, the way he's moving his hand over himself. Dylan grins and leans forward, waiting until Mitch's eyes snap to his face before pushing his fingers back into him.

Mitch closes his eyes and groans. "Can you please just fuck me already?"

Dylan kisses him. "Since you asked so nicely." He scissors his fingers in one last push before pulling them out and lining up. Mitch is wide open for him, thighs spread so far apart his knees are almost touching the bed. Dylan pushes forward and his dick slips, rubbing up behind Mitch's balls. Everything's so slippery that he has to concentrate as he lines up again, pushing carefully forward until he feels himself sliding in.

Mitch grabs for Dylan, wherever he can reach. "Fuck."

Dylan stops instantly. "Babe?"

Mitch smacks him in the ribs. "Don't stop. Jesus." He plants his feet on the bed and rolls his hips, to get the message across.

"Fuck," Dylan hisses as he slides in farther.

"That's the plan," Mitch says, rolling his hips again.

"This is supposed to be my show," Dylan pants.

Mitch grins. "You were taking too long so I drew a penalty. You fall for it every time."

"Does that mean I have to pull out and go sit in the box for two minutes?" Dylan asks innocently. "I mean, if those are the rules..." He starts pulling back.

"Don't you fucking dare," Mitch snaps, so Dylan grins and thrusts forward.

They tease and push each other until Dylan's fully inside, panting and sweating and leaning over Mitch. Mitch is a mess, covered in sweat and lube from where Dylan can't stop touching him. He's gorgeous, flushed everywhere Dylan looks, biting his lip and breathing hard. Dylan kisses him, just a brief peck on the lips.

"You should move," Mitch says, voice hitching. "You really should do that."

Dylan nods, braces his hands on the bed, and gets to work. Mitch's mouth falls open as Dylan thrusts again and again, trying to work himself into a rhythm and mostly failing. He keeps getting lost in the way it feels, the heat and tightness and the way Mitch clenches randomly around him. His abs start hurting after a while, and he grimaces.

"Dyls?" Mitch asks, voice a little strained, but he's looking at Dylan's face. "What's wrong?"

"Not as fit as I used to be," Dylan admits. "Want to try riding me?"

"Shit, yes," Mitch says with a groan. He waits for Dylan to pull out before he sits up and pulls Dylan in by the back of the neck for a deep, filthy kiss. "Lay down, yeah?" he says right against Dylan's lips before kissing him again. It's so, so good and not nearly enough.

"Okay," Dylan says when Mitch pulls back again. He scoots back before Mitch can lean in again and lays on the bed, grabbing for the lube and slicking up again.

Mitch stares at him hungrily and climbs into Dylan's lap. Dylan holds his dick steady while Mitch sinks down, and they both groan when Mitch settles against Dylan's hips.

"Okay?" Mitch pants, looking down at him.

"Fuck, yes," Dylan says, grinding up into Mitch. "Go for it."

Mitch doesn't need any further encouragement to show off the power in his lower body.

He starts moving quickly, little grinding thrusts that make Dylan's head spin. Mitch keeps shifting minutely, and Dylan wonders why until Mitch groans and drops his head, circling his hips almost frantically. "Please tell me you're close," he pants. Then he leans further back, resting one hand on the mattress while he desperately fucks himself on Dylan's cock.

"Do it," Dylan says, reaching down and wrapping his slick hand around Mitch's cock. "C'mon, sweetheart. Come all over me." Mitch throws his head back and bites his fist to muffle a scream.

"C'mon," Dylan repeats, his free hand finding Mitch's hip and squeezing. "So hot, so good, you're so fucking good, babe." He keeps working Mitch's cock, and Mitch keeps grinding down on him, and Dylan's close, so close, but he wants to hold on.

"You're so," he starts, tossing his head to blink sweat from his eyes. "Fuck, Mitch, you have no idea how good you look. This is, I'm, I'm never getting this image out of my head, you riding me, so gorgeous..." He's aware that his mouth is running, but he can't even find it in himself to want to stop. "Fuck, fuck, I love you."

Mitch comes with a shout, spurting hot over Dylan's hand and landing on his stomach, his chest, maybe even his chin. Dylan keeps his hand going until Mitch bats at him, and when Mitch shudders, aftershocks rolling through him, Dylan closes his eyes and thrusts up and comes, too.

He needs a minute to get his breath back, but then he grips the base of the condom so Mitch can ease off. Mitch collapses next to him, his body still quivering. They're both gross, but Dylan doesn't care; he flings an arm over Mitch and pulls him in as best he can.

"Oh my god," Mitch says faintly, leaning in for a kiss.

"You're amazing," Dylan says, kissing Mitch again and again. "Holy shit."

"You have—fuck." Mitch swipes his thumb over Dylan's cheek. "You're a mess."

Dylan hums a little. "Yeah," he says, satisfied.

"We should shower," Mitch says, even as he snuggles into Dylan.

Dylan gropes for the other towel he'd brought and holds it up triumphantly. "We can wipe off now and nap," he says. "Because I'm a genius."

Mitch looks at it for a few seconds before laughing and grabbing the towel, swiping at the worst of the mess on Dylan. "You're the best husband I've ever had," he says, leaning in to kiss Dylan before wiping himself off as well.

"Winner and still champion," Dylan says, satisfied, as Mitch lays back down. He pulls Dylan in to settle against him, and Dylan burrows in happily. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

-0-

Dylan's not ready to head back to Erie, not really, but playoffs wait for no man. Mitch is moving slow when they get up. It probably has something to do with the epic second round they had in the early hours of the morning, Dylan slipping his fingers back inside and Mitch sleepily rocking back until he came all over himself.

"A shower will help," Dylan promises. "Warm water, sore muscles. You know the drill."

Mitch grins. "I regret nothing."

Fuck, if they had time Dylan would tie him to the bed and keep him there all day. They really do have to go, though; they only have enough time to shower and eat before Matt arrives for the road trip back to the real world.

"Hate to see you leave but I love to watch you go," Dylan says, and Mitch shakes his hips on his way out the door.

Mrs. Marner has waffles for them again when Dylan and Mitch makes it downstairs. Matt shows up fifteen minutes early, while Mitch is still communing with a frankly disquieting amount of syrup, and Mrs. Marner is only too happy to make him one, too.

Matt blinks in surprise when Dylan asks him to take first shift on the drive to London. "I thought I'd have to fight you for it."

Dylan pats his stomach, which is definitely protruding now that he's wearing his new super-comfortable pants. "Speck is making me sore. I just want to lay down."

Matt beams at him, and then attacks his waffle.

They don't really have a lot to take with them; they'll be heading back here when the postseason is over, and neither Mitch nor Dylan brought anything that they're going to need before then. It means that they can recline the back seat in Matt's car and curl up together, which is awesome.

Dylan tugs Mitch until he's resting his head on Dylan's chest, and Dylan can play with his hair without having to stretch out. Two more hours of cuddling is too tempting to pass up, especially when they agreed not to meet up during playoffs.

Matt pretty much leaves them to do their own thing; Dylan can see him glance back at them a few times when he's stopped in traffic, but he doesn't ask. Dylan feels a little bad that he's turned his little brother into the third wheel, but he has the whole weekend to make it up to him.

It feels like no time at all before they're pulling into Mitch's billet house. Dylan feels himself tearing up when Mitch sighs against his neck.

"It's okay," Mitch says quietly. "You can call me whenever you want." Dylan just nods. Getting a small taste of what it's going to be like this summer makes it hurt more to say goodbye. He doesn't say anything as they get out of the car and walk to the door; Mitch opens the door and tosses his backpack inside before taking a deep breath. "Dyls."

"Kick some ass," Dylan says, wrapping him in a tight hug, "but not too much. I'll see you when my boys are in the finals." It's a weak chirp and they both know it.

"More like when mine are," Mitch shoots back, clinging to him. They stand there for a long time before Mitch finally pulls back. "Come on. I'll escort you to your chariot." He holds Dylan's hand as they walk the three meters to the car, then opens the car door for him.

Dylan must look pretty miserable because Matt doesn't even chirp them.

"Love you," Mitch says, leaning in to kiss Dylan once, too quick for Dylan to make it into anything. "Call me when you get back to Erie."

"Promise," Dylan replies. It's all he trusts himself to say without choking up.

Mitch gives him a tiny smile before taking a step back and shutting the door. Dylan closes his eyes when Matt pulls away from the curb, so he won't have to see Mitch recede into the distance.

"You okay?" Matt ventures after a few minutes. "Like, I get that this sucks for you, but..."

Dylan gives him a half-smile without opening his eyes. "Don't get knocked up by a division rival during the season," he says. "The hormones and the separation are a sucky combo."

Matt clears his throat. "Yeah, great advice. I'm sure it'll be very useful."

Dylan turns to look at him. "Was that a chirp?"

"I'm G+," Matt says, shrugging. "So, like, yeah. Chirping you. But also, that's definitely a thing I'm not going to do." He shoots Dylan a small smile. "Got the birth control implant thing on locker cleanout day."

"You're the smartest of all of us," Dylan says, snuggling down in his seat.

Matt scoffs. "Fucking duh," he says.

The rest of the drive is a comforting mix of hockey talk and making fun of Ryan since he's not there to defend himself. Dylan's grateful to Matt; every time Dylan starts getting sad about leaving Mitch, Matt comes out with some ridiculous story about his locker room or an idea he had for a prank they could pull.

They're about an hour from Erie when Dylan's phone starts blowing up like crazy. Dylan only has to glance at it to figure out what's going on, and his stomach clenches. "The interview aired," he says, putting his phone on silent and shoving it in the cupholder.

"It'll be fine," Matt says, pulling over for a snack stop.

"We'll see," Dylan mutters. His phone is still lighting up in the cupholder. "It's done with now."

He grabs Skittles and a bottle of water, and resolutely doesn't look at his phone until they pull up at his billet house. Matt goes to take their bags inside and Dylan calls Mitch.

"Hey, babe," Mitch says. "Make it okay?"

"Yeah, we just pulled up." Dylan sighs. "Have you seen anything? Is it bad?"

"Most of what I've seen is good, actually," Mitch says. "I mean, don't get me wrong, there are definitely some people being dicks about it, but they're a super small part of the general reaction." He pauses. "Also, uh. Your agent called my agent to call me and tell me to tell you to call him, so. Call Aaron."

Dylan shakes his head, barely following the tangled phone tree.

"It's okay, babe," Mitch says gently. "It's mostly good. I promise." He laughs a little. "You want to know the craziest fucking thing that's happened to me today?"

"Sure," Dylan says.

"I got a phone call of support," Mitch says, pausing for dramatic effect. "From Leafs management. Brendan goddamned Shanahan called to congratulate us."

Dylan blinks rapidly. "Did he know? Is that who you talked to the other day?"

"No," Mitch says. "I talked to the PR department, and they handled things from there. I guess they told him, and he wanted to officially congratulate me."

"He's not pissed," Dylan says, neding the clarification again. "He's not gonna, like, convince the PR people to have you assassinated."

"I'm sure some poor intern somewhere is having a heart attack," Mitch says. "But we have management's blessing. He was very specific about making sure I understood that."

"It's working," Dylan says, dumbfounded.

"It's working," Mitch confirms. "It's gonna be okay, Dyls."

Dylan's eyes prickle, and he covers them with his hand. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Mitch replies. "So much."

"I'm gonna call Aaron," Dylan says. "I'll text you."

Aaron picks up on the second ring. Clearly he's been waiting for Dylan's call.

"It's good news," he says as soon as the greetings are out of the way. "I just wanted to let you know that the reaction around the league has been positive."

Dylan thumps his head back against the headrest and lets Aaron talk. Apparently the Islanders have called back and are firm about wanting to start negotiations with the Yotes, and in addition to them there are—

" _How_ many other teams?" Dylan asks in disbelief.

"Eighteen," Aaron replies, "with varying degrees of seriousness. You were a top draft pick, you put up great numbers with the Otters this season, and you kept your head in the middle of a tough situation. I'm honestly not surprised."

"Eighteen," Dylan repeats faintly. "Oh my god."

"It made some people nervous that I was being so tight-lipped," Aaron admits. "No-one knew the extent of your injury, or when you'd be back. Now they have a solid timetable to work with. This is good, Dylan; it's going to be good. Being public won't always be easy, but I have your back."

"Eighteen," Dylan says again. He's a little stuck there and he knows it, but he's spent so long wondering if this was the end of his career that he's shaking a little with relief. "And some of them are serious."

Aaron laughs. "About half, actually. But I'm sure we can narrow that down pretty quickly. I'll email you a summary and how serious I think their interest is."

"Thank you. Aaron, I can't thank you enough."

"I'm in your corner," Aaron says. "And we're gonna get you the hell out of Arizona, okay?" He coughs. "Pretend I said that diplomatically."

"I won't tell," Dylan promises, laughing. "Thanks again. Hopefully this is all over with soon."

"Not too soon. That baby still has a lot of cooking to do," Aaron jokes.

"Yeah, but knowing where I'm putting a nursery would be good," Dylan says, leaning his head against the back of the seat and smiling. "I'll look for that email later today."

"And I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything more concrete," Aaron says. "Keep your head up. This is going well."

Dylan's smiling when he hangs up the phone. Yeah, he thinks. It's actually going really well.

-0-

The Otters have a tradition of terrible hair decisions for playoffs, so before the morning team strategy meeting, Dylan announces that this year everyone's getting a terrible bleach job. "Except me, of course," he adds, putting his hand on his baby bump. "It's not good for Junior."

Brinksy's scowl drops off his face at the mention of the baby. "Hair dye for Junior," he declares, looking around the room. "This afternoon. Everybody come to my place."

There's a roar of agreement, and then Coach has them break to run some drills. Dylan grabs Brinksy and Matt and outlines his plan for them for the morning skate.

Matt's eyes light up when Dylan explains what he wants. "You mean I get to just skate around and piss him off?" he asks excitedly.

"For the good of the Otters," Dylan says solemnly. "Be the annoying little shit I know you can be when you really put your mind to it."

Matt pretends to wipe a tear away from his eye. "Such an inspiring speech," he says. "I'll do my best."

Brinksy takes half an hour to knock Matt on his ass. It's a testament to how well Dylan's no-checking drills have been working. He lets them wrestle it out while he jots some notes down; he's got a few suggestions for Brinksy, and Matt had left a weird opening on his left side when he was skating down the boards. He's not an Otter, so this is technically helping the enemy, but Dylan's never going to not help his brother.

Coach blows his whistle and yells for Matt and Brinksy to stop flirting. Before Brinksy can make a face, Matt plants a noisy kiss on his cheek and pats his chest. Half the team wolf whistles; the other half start up a chorus of "traitor!" and make sad faces about Brinksy sleeping with the enemy.

"Well, they've got that right," Dylan says when Brinksy skates back over. "Just, you know, wrong enemy."

"Shut up," Brinksy hisses, but he's smiling. And blushing.

"Oooh," Matt says, leaning in. "I smell gossip. Share."

Brinksy facewashes him. "Practice is for hockey, not gossip."

Dylan snorts. "Since when?"

"Since your brother has a big mouth," Brinksy says, shoving Matt in the shoulder.

"Whoa, save it for the bedroom," Darren says, skating up.

"Sharing is caring," Brinksy retorts.

Darren tries to check him, but Brinksy eels out of it and knocks him on the helmet. It's not lost on Dylan that play fighting is a good way for Brinksy to get out of the conversation. Coach blows his whistle again and changes the drill before he can comment, though, so Dylan bites his tongue. He can tease Brinksy later.

The rest of practice goes according to plan, and Coach looks satisfied when the team finally heads to the locker room. Dylan hands over his notes and they talk while the guys all shower and change, and by the time Matt is ready to head out, they've got a strategy for their next practice.

Matt slings an arm around Dylan's shoulders and says loudly, "So, tell me more about your team."

Brinksy squawks from inside the locker room and comes running out shirtless. "Stromer! Uh." He points at Dylan. "You. No."

Dylan blinks innocently at him. "Would I betray you, dearest Brinksy-Brinks?"

"Yes," Brinksy says, eyes narrowed. "Without even thinking twice."

"Well, at least you know," Dylan says, shrugging and walking out.

The house is empty when they get back. The Murphys are still at work, but they stocked up for Matt's visit. Dylan heats up some spaghetti, and they eat like true hockey players: quickly and silently.

Matt makes a happy noise when he's done eating. "So what else is on the itinerary this weekend?"

"I'm gonna nap, probably," Dylan admits. "It's, like, half of what I do now. I think the Murphys want us to eat with them tonight. There's practice again tomorrow morning and a team meeting in the afternoon, but then I figure we can Skype Ryan."

Matt looks a little relieved. "Downtime is good. I barely got to see you last year, between your playoffs and all the draft stuff over the summer."

Dylan grimaces a little. "Sorry. We can just hang out around here, play some PS4, whatever." Matt smiles, bright and happy, and Dylan tries his best not to tear up. The summers were always his time to catch up with Ryan and Matt, be a family again. All of that's going to change once the baby's here. "Post-practice nap?" he asks. "Because growing a human is exhausting, and so is skating, so we should sleep."

"I will be your body pillow," Matt says. "I've heard the stories."

Dylan snorts. "Brinksy told on me? After giving me shit about gossiping? For shame."

"Ryan, actually," Matt replies, standing up and grabbing their plates. "I heard about the otter, and how you'd rather kick it to the floor and use an actual person."

Dylan blushes. "It's not my fault! People are just... better." He doesn't feel so isolated when he can hear someone else's breathing.

"Yup," Matt agrees. "So let's nap."

He laughs when he sees how giant the otter really is, but he curls up with Dylan readily enough. They fit together a lot better than they did when Dylan was four and Matt was two, all random elbows and toddler entitlement. They both actually want nap time now, too, which Dylan figures has to help.

Matt yawns in Dylan's ear. "Can I say goodnight to the speck?" 

Dylan snorts. "It's still daylight."

"Like you're not gonna want daytime naps after she's born," Matt says.

"You're on Mitch's side?" Dylan complains. " _He_. C'mon, man, back me up."

They have a minor scuffle that almost results in Matt falling off the bed, and Dylan sighs. "I missed this."

"Missed what?" Matt asks, one leg still hanging off the side.

"Not being smothered with concern." Mitch and Connor and Ryan mean well, but it's a lot. Especially with Brinksy joining in too. He has the feeling "I'm pregnant, not incapacitated" is going to become his motto pretty soon.

"Aww, you love me best," Matt coos, grabbing him in a bear hug.

"Right now I do," Dylan says, wrestling Matt into a more comfortable sleeping position. "I'm super picky, though. I might hate you when we wake up." Matt doesn't say anything else, but Dylan can hear him thinking up chirps. Dylan pokes him. "Don't," he warns. "I cry really easily now, too, and I will absolutely use your shirt as a tissue."

"My lips are sealed," Matt promises, but his eyes are dangerous. He's probably going to give Dylan hell all weekend. It's a pretty exciting concept, honestly, and Dylan falls asleep grinning.

Dylan startles awake sometime later when Matt pokes him in the cheek.

"Rise and shine," Matt says. "Mrs. M made chicken and potatoes."

Dylan bats his hand away. "You're the worst."

"Food," Matt says. "C'mon. You love food." He wiggles away so he can bend down and pat Dylan's stomach. "Hey, Speck. Wake your dad up so we can go eat." Dylan's stomach rumbles loudly and Matt cracks up laughing. "I have the power!"

Dylan sighs and shoves him off the side of the bed.

"Still victorious!" Matt says from the floor, fist in the air.

"This is why Ryan gets to be godmother," Dylan grumbles, swinging his legs over Matt as he stands up.

"I'm mounting a comeback campaign," Matt calls as Dylan walks out of the room. "It's gonna be epic, just you wait." He gets to his feet and races Dylan downstairs.

"Matt," Mrs. Murphy says when Matt stumbles in ahead of Dylan. "It's great to see you, sweetie, but maybe use your inside feet."

"Sorry Mrs. Murphy," he mumbles, but when he casts a sideways glance at Dylan he doesn't look sorry at all.

She gestures to a chair and then turns to Dylan, and her face freezes for a second before breaking into a huge smile. "Oh, honey."

Dylan freezes too. "What?"

"No, it's just," she says, walking around the table towards him. "You're really starting to show. I didn't realise."

Dylan drops his hand to his stomach on reflex. She leans in to hug him, patting his back.

Matt plasters himself to Dylan's back. "Baby cuddles!"

"Hey, why did nobody invite me to the group hug?" Mr. Murphy jokes from the entrance to the kitchen. Mrs. Murphy just holds her hand out and flaps it around, and apparently that's Mr. Murphy's cue. "Also, why are we group hugging in the kitchen?"

"Because the food is just that good," Dylan jokes.

"Always a good reason," Mr. Murphy says, drawing back. The hug dissipates quickly, and Mr. Murphy's eyebrows shoot up. He gestures at Dylan's stomach, where his hand is still resting. "Also that, I'm guessing."

"Yeah, I'm... this is a thing." Dylan smiles shakily. Everyone knows, now, because of the interview, but somehow that's different from people being able to tell just by looking at him. Maybe because they won't have to seek out hockey news first. Playing junior hockey in Pennsylvania isn't like being a Kardashian.

"You look good," Mr. Murphy says, smiling. "A little hungry, though. We should eat."

Dylan shoulder checks Matt just for the hell of it and heads to the table.

-0-

Saturday morning's practice is pretty similar to Friday's; Coach has them running drills mostly just to keep them sharp. Dylan's on the ice in his no-contact jersey; it's not the same, but he's still happy to be out there. Easter is fucking with the playoff schedule this year, so this will be the last skate until Tuesday, and Coach clearly isn't going to any fine detail work before then, because he lets them go after an hour. Dylan takes Matt to a diner for brunch, and they brainstorm how they're going to gang up on Ryan when he calls.

They have a few ideas, but Ryan himself accidentally gives them more ammo than they could ever have come up with. They've barely said hello before someone says something off-camera, and Ryan's face makes this totally goofy expression that he quickly tries to hide. "Yeah, no, I picked it up at the store," he calls. "Check the pantry? Like, near the rice, I think."

Matt pokes Dylan. "Does he have a girlfriend?" he hisses, just as John Tavares wanders into the frame.

"I can't find it," he says, making a super sad face at Ryan, who has turned around to look at him. JT's face perks up. "Hey, Dylan! And Matt, right?"

"Yeah," Matt says stupidly, all the bravado he'd had when he was chirping the McLeods mysteriously missing now that he's actually talking to _JT_. "I'm Matt."

"Nice to meet you," JT says, smiling. "Dylan, how's it going? I saw the interview. You did good." He's leaning over the back of the sofa now, right in Ryan's space, and Ryan looks... really comfortable with that, actually.

"I'm good," Dylan says, reluctant to tease Ryan with an audience. "The interview generated a lot of interest. Maybe I have a shot at coming back after all."

"You'll be back," JT says confidently. There's really no way to not believe what he's saying, but that's probably why he's the captain.

"I'll make you a shake after I'm done here," Ryan says to JT, and if Dylan didn't know better he'd swear they're about to kiss.

"Then I'll get out of your hair," JT says, smiling down at Ryan. He actually ruffles Ryan's hair before he leaves, and Dylan's never seen someone make that phrase literal before.

When JT disappears out of frame, Matt lets out a hysterical peal of laughter, high-pitched and squeaky.

"Oh my god," Dylan says, trying not to do the same. "Ryan Edward. You have been _holding out on us_."

"Shut up," Ryan hisses, making a flappy hand at the camera. JT strolls past in the background, trails his hand over the back of Ryan's neck, and then finally leaves the room. A door shuts a moment later, and judging from the way he'd been heading, Dylan figures he's probably in his bedroom now.

"Ryan," Matt says, eyes wide. " _Ryan_."

"It's not like that," Ryan blurts out, even though neither have them have said what they think it _obviously_ looks like.

Dylan leans back a little and raises his eyebrows as high as he can. He knows from experience it's pretty high.

Matt snorts. "You probably want to cover up the stubble rash, then, if you don't want people to get the wrong idea." Ryan claps a hand over his neck, and Matt starts laughing again. There _is_ no stubble rash that Dylan can see. This is why they always recruit Matt for anything that requires sneakiness.

Ryan makes a face after a few seconds and drops his hand. "It's maybe a little like that," he mumbles. "It's just—hang on." He leans over and the view swings wildly before resettling a moment later, now showing the wall above Ryan's bed. The door clicks shut and then locks offscreen, and Ryan reappears. "I can't believe I'm talking to you two about this, for the record."

Dylan shrugs. "Try being knocked up. There's a lot of things I can't believe I have to talk to you two about."

"I'm definitely not knocked up," Ryan says quickly. "Uh, I mean. It's not possible, and also, it's not... like _that_."

Matt puts his chin in his hands and leans forward. "What _is_ it like, then?"

Dylan braces himself for the revelation that Ryan's doing the pitching, not the catching. Those are details he really never needs about his big brother's sex life.

"We're not sleeping together," Ryan says. "We're just... it was only a couple of times? But all we've done is make out."

Oh no. This is worse than Dylan was imagining. He won't even be able to enjoy chirping Ryan over this, because the stupid jerk has _feelings_.

Matt snorts. "Dude. Ryan. He looked like he was four seconds away from carrying you away into the sunset back there."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "That was for his new best friend _Dylan_. He keeps asking when the next visit is."

Dylan glances at Matt, who looks like he wants to laugh again. "Ryan," he says slowly. "He was all over you. That was definitely not for me."

"He's my captain, and my roommate," Ryan points out. "I'm not screwing that up."

Matt opens his mouth, but Dylan pinches him before he can go for the obvious joke. "I'm not saying you should declare your undying love or whatever," Dylan says. "Just... I don't know. Don't tell yourself you can't have what's right there, I guess."

Ryan looks like he wants to keep arguing, but he just nods his head. Dylan would've pushed it more, before this whole mess with the Yotes. Now he has first-hand experience with how precarious NHL deals can be.

"So," Matt says loudly. "You can totally see the speck now when Dylan stands up."

"No way!" Ryan replies, leaning closer to his camera. "Why the hell are we talking about me instead of that?"

"Now we're talking about it," Matt says breezily. "C'mon, Dyls. Show off the bump."

Dylan blushes as he gets to his feet. It feels weird to have people _look_ at him so intently. And it's only going to be weirder when people start asking to touch.

"Oh, wow," Ryan says, pretty much directly into the mic on his laptop. "You can totally tell!"

"He's growing like crazy. Four times as long as he was at the last checkup," Dylan replies proudly. The baby isn't the size of an apple seed anymore; he's more like the size of a lemon.

"It's a boy?" Ryan yelps. "When did you find out? Why didn't you call me?"

Dylan exchanges a glance with Matt. "Maybe you _should_ be godmother. At least you check your email."

"What?" Ryan yelps again.

There's a knocking sound from off screen. "Ry? Everything okay?"

"My brothers are being assholes," Ryan calls. "I'm fine."

Matt opens his mouth, but Dylan elbows him before he can say anything. "Lay off, Matty."

Matt pouts a little but doesn't say anything else, and Ryan shoots him a grateful look. Then he seems to remember that his godmother status in in danger, and suddenly both of his brothers are pouting at him.

"Dylan and Mitch have a secret bet," Matt informs him. "And they're both trying to recruit people to their side of the secret."

"And the secret is..." Ryan says slowly.

"Not very secret now," Dylan complains. "We won't find out for a couple of months. I say boy, he says girl. Matt's on Mitch's side, in case you were wondering who's a traitor."

"Team Dylan," Ryan says instantly.

Dylan fist pumps. "Go team!"

"More like Team Loser," Matt says.

"Dylan," Ryan says solemnly. "As a member of Team You, I have to suggest shoving Matty off the bed now."

Dylan tilts his head to the side. "Team Me agrees," he says, and then he and Matt get into a little bit of a scuffle. Dylan's got weight on his side, though, plus Matt not really wanting to hurt him, probably, so Dylan prevails.

Matt squawks as he goes down, like an angry chicken. Dylan and Ryan are both in tears of laughter by the time they wrap up the call.

"Don't forget to feed your boyfriend!" Matt yells from the floor

"He's not my boyfriend," Ryan says, sighing. He probably means for it to sound long-suffering, but it sounds a little melancholy to Dylan.

"Makeout friend, whatever," Matt says. "Go. Leave me alone with the better brother."

Ryan flips him off and hangs up.

Matt pokes his head up. "Ryan has a boyfriend and he doesn't even know it," he says gleefully, and Dylan cracks up.

"I know," Dylan says when he manages to catch his breath. "Cut him some slack though, okay? They have playoffs coming up; if ever there was a time to be stupid about your personal life because you're focused on something else, this is Ryan's moment in the sun."

"Fine," Matt says. "But I reserve the right to make extra fun of him after."

Dylan rolls onto his side and props his head on his hand, so he can see Matty properly. "I don't know, he looked sad."

"Tavares looked at him like rainbows were coming of out his face," Matt counters. "I'll let it go for the playoffs. He's fair game over the summer."

"Hey Matt?" Dylan says softly.

"Yeah?"

"I'll almost be a dad by the end of summer."

Matt looks stunned. "Holy shit, Dyls."

"I know." Dylan laughs, rolling onto his back and resting his hand on his stomach.

Matt climbs back on the bed and curls himself into Dylan. "Wow," he says after a minute. "Just... wow." He wriggles happily, and Dylan smiles and hugs him close.

Matt pulls up Netflix, and Dylan settles in for the night. He's so glad Matt is here.


	15. Chapter 15

They spend Easter with the Murphys, eating way more than either of them should. Matt on a sugar high is just as terrifying as Dylan remembers.

"Chocolate," he says with an honest-to-god giggle as he flops onto Dylan's bed. "I love chocolate, Dyls. And Peeps!"

"No more chocolate for you. Ever," Dylan replies, facewashing him.

Matt keeps giggling, which is hilarious. Dylan tries not to crack a smile and mostly fails. "Chocolate forever," Matt singsongs.

"You're sleeping on the floor tonight," Dylan threatens.

"But who will you cuddle?" Matt asks, eyes wide. "You need to cuddle me. You need me to cuddle."

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "The otter doesn't have chocolate breath."

"I'll brush my teeth!" Matt says, leaping out of bed.

"The otter also isn't going to kick me in my sleep," Dylan points out. "You, I'm not so sure." Dylan feels tired just looking at him.

"I'll be on my best behaviour," Matt says, pausing by the door. "I swear, Dyls. You know I always zonk out after this."

It's true; the McLeods have given Matt some epic whipped cream moustache/beard combos over the years when he sugar-crashed during gaming marathons. It takes him a little while to settle down, but once he's out, he's like a log.

Matt comes back wearing his shirt as a cape and leaps into the bed in a single bound.

Dylan points sternly at his desk chair. "Go vibrate over there," he says. "I'm gonna call Mitch for a few minutes. I don't want the bed to be shaking while I do."

When he answers, Mitch has a chocolate moustache of his own. Dylan snorts and motions to his face. "You've got something there," he says.

Mitch grins and scrubs at his face. "Don't want anything there you didn't put there," he says nonchalantly, and Matt chokes.

Dylan snorts. "Maybe you should go take a shower, Matty."

"I'm not sleeping in the wet spot!"

"You won't even notice," Mitch calls. "I've seen you post-shower, man. It's like you don't even know what a towel is for."

Matt makes a horrified noise and bolts out of the room to the sound of Mitch's laughter. Dylan smiles fondly, but as soon as Matt slams the bedroom door, he sighs a little. "Sorry to burst your bubble, babe, but I'm like ten seconds from a food coma. I just wanted to talk to you before I passed out.”

"I think I need to go for a run," Mitch replies. "I'm used to burning off sugar with hockey."

Dylan smiles as he slides down until he's mostly laying. "Yeah, well. Same, except apparently I now need a lot more sugar to get me all crazy." He makes a face. "Also I never knew how weird Peeps taste."

"You have to let them sit open for a week," Mitch advises. "They get stale. The taste is a lot better when they're not gummy at the same time."

"That's disgusting," Dylan says, making a face.

They talk for a while about the stupid things they've gotten up to since they were together, until Mitch trails off with a goofy smile on his face. "Speck giving you trouble?"

Dylan blinks a few times. "Huh?"

"You've been touching your stomach for like ten minutes. I thought maybe you were feeling sick." Mitch shakes his head. "Turns out you're just _cute_."

Dylan glances down, and sure enough, he's rubbing little circles against the bump. He can feel his face going red. "Oh my god, shut up." Now that he's aware of it, it feels nice. Dr. Weber said something about the ligaments needing to stretch a whole lot, so maybe that's it; maybe he doesn't just feel pulled tight like a goal net because of his impending food coma.

Mitch just keeps smiling at him. "This is," he starts, then reaches towards the screen. Dylan's completely sure he's touching where Dylan's hand is resting.

Dylan rubs his thumb over his stomach. "Wish you were here to pamper me."

"Me too," Mitch says. "God, so much."

Dylan swallows hard, determined not to cry and make Mitch feel bad. Again.

"I love you," Mitch says softly. "Both of you."

Dylan can feel his eyes betraying him, fuck everything, but he's saved by the sound of his door opening and Matt walking back in. "You two are gross," he announces. He is, as Mitch had predicted, dripping wet. "I'd rather walk in on you jerking off." He flops down on the bed and pokes his tongue out at Mitch.

"Hey, that can be arranged," Mitch teases, taking off his shirt.

"Dylan has to go now," Matt says. "I turned the water really hot in the shower, so I'm way less sugar high now, and also I'm super warm."

"Ooh!" Dylan cuddles up to him, and all that warmth feels _so_ good on his belly.

"I've been replaced," Mitch says, falling dramatically across his bed.

Matt hugs Dylan closer. "Bros before—uh."

"Husbands?" Dylan says dryly. "Sorry, Matty. You're super warm, but if I had to choose..." He waits a beat, then shoves Matt out of the bed. He's a little sad to lose his personal heater but the look of betrayal on Matt's face is worth it.

"I won't ever make you choose, baby," Mitch croons.

Dylan bats his eyelashes and makes a kissy face. "That's why you're my favourite."

Matt makes a retching sound.

Mitch laughs a little. "Okay, sleep," he says. "Love you. And, Matt, you have my permission to sleep in bed with my husband. I don't give that to just anyone."

Matt cheers weakly. "Finally, I've reached Davo status."

"It only took you sixteen years," Dylan says, reaching down to pat his arm. "Now get up here and take advantage of it before you lose all the body heat."

"You're the worst older brother," Matt complains. "Ryan is officially number one."

Dylan snorts. "Well you could go stay with him instead, but then you might walk in on a lot more than Skype sex."

Mitch makes an interested noise. "What's going on in Brooklyn?"

"Win your series against Kitchener and I'll maybe tell you," Dylan says sweetly. "Love you, bye!"

"Dyls," Mitch whines, but Dylan hangs up on him.

Matt is maybe still a _little_ high on sugar because he giggles. "Stone cold, Dyls."

"Yup," Dylan says. "Get up here and warm me up."

Matt burrows under the covers and starts yawning. Sugar crash time; perfect. Dylan pokes him into the best position and then cuddles against him. True to form, Matt's out like a light in under a minute. Dylan's going to miss his ridiculous face when he heads home. For now, though, he just enjoys the warmth.

Matt isn't nearly as perky in the morning, much to Dylan's delight. Dylan asks if he wants sugar in his coffee, and Matt hisses at him. It means he's grinning while Matt's grumpily packing his bags for the bus ride home.

Dylan drives him to the bus stop and gets out to give him a long hug. "Thanks for coming down," he says into Matt's shoulder.

"Thanks for not chucking up," Matt replies, but he hangs on tight.

"I do my best," Dylan says, trying not to sniffle.

"I'll call you about this summer," Matt promises. "It's going to be epic."

"Damn right it is," Dylan says, pulling back and wiping at his eyes. "And hey, I'm only gonna be in Markham. It's not like I'm moving to, you know. Arizona."

"Shut up, those jerks don't deserve you anyway."

Dylan shrugs. "Get on your bus," he says, shoving lightly at Matt's shoulder. "And text me when you get back."

Matt grins. "Yes, Mom."

"I'll tell her you think that's an insult," Dylan says, trying to grab Matt for a noogie.

Matt eels away, but then reaches in to pat at Dylan's bump. "Bye, baby," he says, grinning down at it. "I'm your best uncle. Don't forget."

"You will have to fight so many people for that honour," Dylan says, tugging Matt in for one last hug before pushing him away again. "Go."

Matt lumbers over to the bus. He's turned out be the tallest of them all, so it almost feels mean confining him to that small space for hours. Matt hadn't bitched about it when Dylan brought it up, though, so he lets it go. It's probably way better than the team bus that Matt's used to, anyway.

Dylan waits until Matt's found a seat and waved crazily at him through the window before he heads back to the car. He's got the rest of the day off before playoffs practices start tomorrow, and he's going to spend as much of it either napping or sexting Mitch as he can.

He grins as he buckles up and drives away. It's always good to have a plan.

-0-

Dylan keeps waiting for the shit to hit the fan. He's really not looking forward to it, but he figures it's only a matter of time before he and Mitch have to deal with a lot of negative attention. They've both been in the public eye enough that they know not to seek out articles or internet comments. Still, there are ways for people to be dicks, but all of the texts and calls Dylan gets are supportive. After a day or two he starts to wonder how that's even possible.

"They're probably just keeping their mouths shut," Mitch says when Dylan points it out. "The Internet is forever. If somebody says something shitty, everyone will know."

"True," Dylan says, frowning. His Twitter account has been locked since before his draft, and he hasn't accepted any new follow requests in like six months. Maybe they've just been careful enough that it hasn't been able to reach them yet. Maybe people don't care all that much about a pair of OHL players. But no; that doesn't make any sense with the way Mitch has been playing. Dylan narrows his eyes suspiciously. "You'd tell me if people were coming after you, right?"

"They're not," Mitch says. "Nobody's said shit to me." He sighs a little. "And I'd ignore them if they did."

It's smart, honestly. Dylan should probably stop focusing on it, but it's tough.

Mitch bites his lip. "I don't want you to think I went behind your back but, uh. I told Sylvie I don't want to cooperate with any more statements until I talk to Leafs PR again."

"That's probably a good idea," Dylan says. "Think I can get away with ducking interviews until I know where I'm going to end up?"

"I think you have enough bodyguards to pull it off," Mitch says, laughing a little.

"True," Dylan replies, grinning. "Otter wall between me and the media."

Mitch snorts. "Make sure you duck behind Taylor Raddysh. Brinksy is too small."

"He bites, though."

"He can be a forward. The Raddyshes can be your blue line," Mitch says, grinning.

Dylan cracks up. "Wanna help me come up with plays?"

"Would that count as consorting with the enemy?" Mitch wonders.

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "I think _consorting_ is what got us into this in the first place."

"Then we're home free," Mitch says breezily. "It's not like you can get double pregnant."

"Don't tempt the hockey gods," Dylan replies, throwing a pretzel at his laptop screen.

"Speaking of things I shouldn't do," Mitch says, glancing offscreen. "If I don't leave soon I'll be late for practice."

"Oh crap, me too," Dylan complains. He hadn't meant to talk for so long, but it's _Mitch_. "Maybe we shouldn't talk before practices."

Mitch pouts. "No visiting, no talking before practices. Next you'll be telling me no Skype sex until after the playoffs."

"I'm not _that_ much of a martyr to the captaincy," Dylan replies. "I'm not Davo." Dylan will do a lot for his team but celibacy is _not_ on the table.

"He would," Mitch mutters. There's a beeping sound from his side, and he sighs. "That's my alarm. I have to go."

"Love you," Dylan says. "Go practice so you can beat Kitchener. I don't want to have to play them next round."

"Love you too. Don't worry, we'll kick your asses in the second round." Mitch's devilish smile is the last thing Dylan sees before the screen goes dark. Honestly, it's exactly what he was hoping to see. Beating him will be even sweeter for it.

Dylan faces a round of cat calls when he gets to the rink just barely on time. "Shut up or I'll give you every single detail," Dylan says cheerily. "I'll start with dick size."

"That means shut up or it's bag skates for the lot of you," Coach calls out. "Nobody wants to hear that."

Dylan shoots Coach a smile. "C'mon, guys. Let's get ready to kick Sarnia's ass."

"That sounds painful," Brinksy observes as he pulls his laces tight.

"Better be careful with your aim, then," Coach says, deadpan. Brinksy makes a wounded face and skates away; Coach waits until he's long gone to crack a smile. "Let's put them through their paces," he says. "We've got a Cup to win."

Dylan hides a smile of his own. "You're so much more evil than I ever knew."

"Few ever figure it out," Coach replies, clapping Dylan's shoulder. "Consider yourself lucky. Or unlucky. Depends on your point of view, I suppose."

Dylan gets his head in the pre-game after that. 

Practice is long but productive; Dylan's legs ache in sympathy by the time Coach lets the team off the ice. He's glad that his own workout was much shorter. He gets a call while he's driving home, and he lets it go to voicemail; when he gets home, he sees that Aaron has left him a message. He takes a couple of deep, calming breaths while he heads to the kitchen for a sandwich.

Then once he's got his sandwich made, he hits play on the voicemail and takes a big bite as he listens.

"Hey, Dylan," Aaron says. "This isn't a bad news call. Deep breath. Give me a call back when you get this."

Dylan sits down at the table and makes the command decision to finish eating before he calls, and maybe loses his appetite. Not bad news, but that doesn't mean it's great news either. If the Coyotes have changed their minds and decided not to trade... Well, if that happens Dylan can't do anything about it. Although, he considers as he chews, that might count as bad news in Aaron's book. It sure does in Dylan's.

He kills some time tidying up when he's done eating, giving himself a pep talk while he grabs a glass of water. If Aaron says it's not bad news Dylan should trust him; he promised not to sugar coat things unnecessarily, and he's kept that promise. Finally, he runs out of shit to procrastinate with, so he takes a deep breath and dials.

It's been half an hour since Aaron called, so he takes a while to pick up. Dylan promises himself that if he stays on the line instead of chickening out, he can have ice cream after.

"Dylan," Aaron finally says. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Everything's good with, uh, everything," Dylan replies, sketching his hand through the air even though Aaron can't see him. "Mitch and I decided we're keeping a low profile as much as we can until playoffs are done. I know it's all supposed to go through Sylvie, but if anyone asks you for an interview..."

"I'll say no," Aaron confirms.

"Thanks," Dylan says. "or, like, tell them to go through Sylvie. She's scary as shit."

Aaron laughs. "In this case that's a good thing. You don't want the media thinking it's open season now that you've done one press release and one interview."

"Yeah, no," Dylan confirms. "The fewer people I have to talk to in-depth about my relationship, the better."

"Speaking of relationships," Aaron says. "I wanted to update you on where you might land."

"You emailed me, right?" Dylan stays on the phone as he goes to get his laptop.

"I did," Aaron confirms. "Like we expected, a bunch of the less serious teams fell off the table. There are still six that look like they're moving forward with actual trade offers."

"Six." It still blows Dylan away how much things have turned around since the interview was released.

"Six," Aaron confirms. "You're looking at a variety of places. Minnesota and Vancouver are probably furthest from a trade, just looking at what they'd have to give up, but you're still looking at the possibility of Columbus, New Jersey, Carolina, and Long Island. Uh, Brooklyn. Your brother's team."

Dylan opens his email and clicks on the most recent one Aaron said, so that he has visual confirmation of what he thinks he just heard. Four Metro teams want him. He'd be in the same conference as Mitch. "That's," he says roughly, then clears his throat. "Wow. This is... wow."

"It's going to take a while to narrow things down, but I wanted to make sure you know things are progressing," Aaron assures him.

"Thanks," Dylan says. He has to close his eyes for a minute, because looking at that list—there's a _list_ —is giving him more feelings than he can handle at the moment.

"I'm confident we'll have a deal by the end of the month. In the meantime just keep your head down and focus on your team." Aaron sounds like he's smiling.

"Thank you," Dylan says again. Honestly, he has no idea what else he could even say at this point.

"You're doing all the hard work, Dylan. Everyone sees you with the Otters, keeping your team together even with all your, ahem, off-ice issues." Aaron snorts at his own joke, as close as he'll let himself get to saying the Coyotes are fucking morons. At least, as close as he'll get while he's on the clock. 

Dylan's going to ask his mother to invite Aaron to the baby shower-wedding reception hybrid monster party over the summer; maybe with enough celebratory punch in him, Aaron will let it slip. Agents are people too, no matter what Bettman might think.

-0-

Dylan has always believed in his team. It's part of why he was named this year's captain, but it's not just because of that; he really, truly believes that they can find a way to win. Sarnia's a tough opponent, but Dylan takes a look at all of his notes, thinks about the tape he's watched, and he knows: they're going to do it.

They take the first two games at home, then go one-and-one in Sarnia. Dylan gives the guys as good a pep talk as he can before game five back home, but Sarnia takes that one, too, so they get back on the bus and head out. Game six goes their way, though; every bounce seems lucky, all of the pits in the ice are there to trip up the Sting instead of the Otters, and it's not their poor goalie's night. Dylan yells as loudly as he can from the bench when the final buzzer goes off. They're going to round two, and since the Knights beat Kitchener in five, they're going to face Mitch.

Before that, though, there's a handshake line to get through. He gets a Raddysh escort out to center ice, where he stands while the Sting skate past and shake his hand. He doesn't know many of them well, but when Travis Konecny stops in front of him, Dylan can't help but grin. "Hey, TK."

"You suck," TK says cheerily. "No texts, no phone calls, and I find out from Sportsnet that you're married and having a kid?" He leans in and hugs Dylan tight, right there on the ice, slapping his back a few times. "I know that draft class chat still works, man. Werenski is on a one-man mission to send every single emoji in the book."

Dylan laughs. "Sorry, man. It was a whole timing thing, you know?" He shrugs. "Didn't mean to leave you out."

"Nah, I get it," TK says amiably. "Congrats, though. You're gonna be a great dad." He pauses. "But, like, on a different note? Go beat London." He grins a little wolfishly. "I mean, if you beat us, that means you have to win everything, or we got beaten by _losers_."

"Can't have that," Dylan says, as solemnly as he can manage. "Thanks, TK."

TK taps his stick against the ice in front of Dylan before giving him another hug and skating away. Dylan can only shake his head; it's just… incredibly TK, really, but it's nice all the same to know that people outside his own tight-knit circle support him.

The bus ride back to the hotel is quiet. It's not that the guys aren't excited; they are, but they're also exhausted. Luckily, it looks like they're going to get an extra day or two off before facing London, since the other teams in the playoffs are still fighting it out.

Brinksy follows Dylan back to his room. It's impossible to travel with his otter, so Dylan's been using Brinksy as his stand-in body pillow when they're on the road. He'll never say out loud that he prefers Brinksy to the otter, but it's true. The human Otter beats the plushie otter every time.

Dylan texts Mitch as they settle in, and Mitch FaceTimes him less than a minute later. He's already beaming when Dylan accepts the call. "Babe! Hi!"

Dylan snorts. "Hi yourself. Had a couple beers, babe?"

Brinksy flops onto the bed behind him, snickering.

"Brinks!" Mitch yells, and Dylan holds the phone a little farther from his face. "Good goal. Great goal." He points at the screen. "But no more goals, okay? Not against us."

Mitch's screen wobbles, like someone's trying to steal the phone. Or steal Mitch; you never know when the Knights are in celly mode. Mitch makes a sound of protest, but the screen wobbles again, and Juolevi's exasperated face appears. "Sorry. I didn't think he'd be this... loud."

Brinksy spoons right up behind Dylan, and hooks his head over Dylan's shoulder. "Dude, you have no idea how loud he can get."

Juolevi's whole face does something really complicated before he sighs and rolls his eyes. "DeBrincat. Using your captain as a security blanket, I see."

"Mr. Juolevi," Brinksy replies, low and mock-serious. "Them's fighting words from a dude who uses his _gold medal_ as a security blanket."

The screen wobbles yet again, and Mitch's face squashes in next to Juolevi's. "Why do you know that?" he asks Brinksy, before turning to Juolevi. "Why does he know that?"

Juolevi blushes bright red and tries to duck out of frame, but Mitch gets an arm around his neck.

"So this one time, in Finland," Brinksy says loudly. "Juo here won a gold medal and said he would never take it off again."

Mitch grabs the collar of Juolevi's shirt and pulls it wide, almost choking the poor guy. "Well, he's not wearing it now!"

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "I think he saved it for special occasions. Y'know, like getting a certain person who only won bronze all worked up."

"Don't make this about me," Brinksy says, poking Dylan in the arm. "This is a story about Juo and his—"

"Too much information," Mitch says loudly. "Too much. Don't tell me."

"We have to go now. Bye!" Juolevi says hurriedly, before things can get any worse.

"Nope!" Mitch says, somehow managing to wrestle his phone away from Juolevi. "You can go, though. I want to talk to my husband."

"Wow, that's my cue," Brinksy says, rolling away from Dylan. "Text me when you're done, man. And if I touch the wet spot, I swear to god you're sleeping alone."

"Yay, privacy!" The background behind Mitch swings wildly as he crosses the room.

Dylan grins. "Can you even get it up right now, drunky?"

" _Yes,_ " Mitch says, clearly offended. "Probably."

"Bathroom phone sex if you can handle it," Dylan promises.

"Hell yes," Mitch says. There's another minute of the screen bouncing around before it stabilises and a door shuts firmly. "I'm all yours."

"You're all something," Dylan replies. Mitch leers, which is honestly not an attractive look from the angle he's got the phone at, and Dylan snorts. "That's not exactly getting me in the mood."

"You looked so hot in your suit on the sidelines tonight," Mitch says immediately, voice dropping a little. "Like, holy shit. If I was there, I would've been all over you in the locker room."

"Better," Dylan says approvingly. "What else?"

Mitch sighs and runs his hand down his chest. "Fuck, I don't even know. Just want to get my hands on you."

"I can work with that," Dylan says. "Hang on." He sets his phone down so he can wriggle out of his clothes; it's not easier than getting out of bed, but fuck if he's standing up. He picks the phone back up and grins. "Okay, so I'm here and I'm naked."

"Show me," Mitch replies, eyes wide.

Dylan lifts his phone as high above himself as he can and slowly pans down his body. He trails his fingers slowly down his chest as he does, watching Mitch's face on the screen.

"Ugh, I could be _there_ instead of here," Mitch complains. "Wanna mark you up so you don't forget me."

"Team time," Dylan reminds him, reaching down so he can stroke himself. "After the next series. One of us goes on, the other one tags along. That's the deal."

"Mmm I like that deal. Want to get on my knees for you." Mitch bites his lip, and Dylan can hear him unzip his jeans.

"Let me see," Dylan demands.

The screen wobbles as Mitch fumbles with his phone. "I'm gonna be such a mess when you're done with me."

"Yeah," Dylan says, satisfied. "You are, babe. Gonna go out there, back to your party, everyone's gonna know what I did to you."

Mitch breathes hard, like he's just come off a shift. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Go slow," Dylan says. "And make a lot of noise for me."

Mitch groans and tilts his phone down. Dylan can't see much besides his hand—oh. It's a little hard to see, between Mitch's shirt being sort of in the way and the weird angle, but Dylan has to bite his lip to keep himself from groaning anyway. Mitch has his dick cupped in his hand, and he's rubbing slowly at the tip with his thumb.

"You'd probably feel better if you got your hand wet," Dylan says, just to watch Mitch shudder.

"Is that what you want?" Mitch breathes out.

"I want to tie you to my bed for like a week," Dylan replies.

Mitch groans, and Dylan sees his fingers tighten around his dick. "I'd, uh. I'd be up for that."

"Hmm. I think you're up for just about anything with me," Dylan teases.

Mitch's breath stutters a little. "Yeah. Whatever you want, babe."

"Want to fuck you blind," Dylan says. "I want to get you up against the headboard and ride your dick, like we did in Finland."

Mitch lets out a groan and the camera wobbles. It looks like Mitch decided that leaning back against the wall was a better option than standing straight up, and the new position has the added benefit of giving Dylan a better view as Mitch starts thrusting into his hand.

"I'd make you do all the work, open me up," Dylan continues as he starts lazily touching himself.

"I'd," Mitch says. "Fuck, yeah, Dyls. Get my fingers all slick and fuck you open with them."

"I know you would, babe." Dylan slides his hand down to cup his balls. Mitch is getting so worked up, so close. it's gorgeous.

"Get my mouth on you," Mitch says. The angle's way off now, but Dylan doesn't care; honestly, the sound of Mitch losing it is really doing it for him. "Lay you down so I could finger you and blow you at the same time."

Dylan gasps. "Should I be keeping a list for the off season?"

"Yes," Mitch says. "Yeah. Everything, babe, wanna—wanna do everything with you." He's leaking steadily; Dylan can see it. It probably won't be long before Mitch stops being able to talk.

"Gonna wait til you get me nice and ready," Dylan promises, stroking himself faster. "Then I'm gonna get you on your back and sit on your dick. Hold your arms down, up above your head, ride you until I come all over you."

"Oh fuck." Mitch starts jerking off harder, faster.

"We can switch," Dylan says, watching intently. "After I come. I'll lay on my back, spread my legs for you, and you can go to town."

Mitch whines high in his throat and comes all over himself.

"Fuck," Dylan groans, stroking himself. "Babe, god, I wish you were here."

"Wish I could kiss you," Mitch says between panting breaths.

"Me too," Dylan says. "I want your mouth, your hands on me."

Mitch's camera swings again until his face is back in view. "Come on, babe."

"Want you, want you," Dylan gasps out. He plants his feet so he can thrust up into his fist. He's so close.

"Just wait a little and you can have me," Mitch promises.

"Mitch," Dylan chokes, back arching as he comes. He drops his phone, reaching to twist his fingers in the bedspread. He can hear Mitch still talking, but he can't make out the words over the blood rushing in his ears.

It takes him a little while to come down enough to grab for his phone again, and when he finally manages it, Mitch is smiling at him. "Good?"

"Yeah," Dylan breathes. "Better when you're here, though."

"It's always better when we're together," Mitch says. "Always."

"Fuck, I miss you." Dylan tries not to say it, because it doesn't really help. But he can't help himself this time.

"I miss you, too," Mitch says. "We'll be there in three days, though. Even if we're not going to be together, we'll still be close." And then after semi-finals they get to see the baby again. Dylan honestly isn't sure which one he's looking forward to more.

Dylan smiles a little. "I love you. And you've got jizz on your shirt."

Mitch makes a face. "We're at Cliff's place; I don't have a spare."

"Sucks for you," Dylan says sweetly. "Tuck it in or go shirtless. Your choice."

Mitch sighs. "I'm going to be chirped to hell and back either way. Do I want to be a nerd or eye candy?"

"You're always eye candy," Dylan says, leering. "If you take it off, there's no chance three-beers-from-now you untucks it and shows everyone."

"Okay, I guess I'm partying half-naked," Mitch replies, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously.

"Take pictures," Dylan says. "Ooh, take pictures with Juo. I bet his face will be amazing."

Dylan signs off so that Mitch has both hands free to try to clean up. He sends Brinksy an all-clear text and gets in the shower, but by the time he's done there's still no reply. He makes a face as he gathers all of the pillows to make himself a nest on the clean bed; Brinksy probably went and fell asleep in someone else's room. Dylan will have to deal.

He wakes up cranky sometime later, with a crick in his neck and an ache in his side. Brinksy is grimacing and holding his toe; apparently he tripped over his dress shoes in bare feet.

"What the fuck," Dylan whines.

"Sorry," Brinksy replies. "Didn't want to interrupt."

Dylan raises both eyebrows to the roof. "Bullshit."

"I was busy," Brinksy tries, and the tips of his ears go red.

Dylan starts laughing. " _Getting_ busy," he crows. "Whatever. Come cuddle me. And I want deets, or I'm telling Davo you shirked your body-pillow duties."

"You're going to tell him anyway," Brinksy grumbles as he crawls under the covers. "I called Juo so we could bitch about how gross you and Marns are."

"So you're ready to admit you're hooking up with him? Aww, I'm so proud." Dylan grins, and pokes Brinksy in the ribs.

"We're not a thing," Brinksy insists, wiggling away. "It's just, I don't know. Buddies."

Dylan snorts. "That's okay. Not everyone can deliver the epic romance like me and Mitch."

"Epic romance care of amazon.com," Brinksy shoots back.

"We got married," Dylan says, sighing as he lifts his hand out from under the blankets so he can flash his ring. "And we're having a baby. And I love him."

Brinksy makes a sound. "See, I know you're going for cheesy, but that's all super true."

"Yup," Dylan says happily. "So if you want to bone Juo without feelings, man, go for it. I don't get it, but have fun."

"Maybe I will," Brinsky grumps, letting Dylan arrange him just so for optimal cuddling support.

"Good," Dylan says, already falling back asleep. "Just, be careful, y'know? Wrap it up." He pats Brinksy's hair. "Already thought he knocked you up. Don't do that again."

"You _what_?" Brinsky yelps.

"No DeBrin-kittens," Dylan mutters. He falls asleep to the sound of Brinksy swearing. It's like music.

-0-

They have a light afternoon practice after they get back to Erie, but Dylan's back at the Murphys' in time for an early dinner. Dylan managed to sleep in the car while Brinksy was driving, so he's feeling pretty damn good. Mr. Murphy made stir fry chicken, which Dylan could probably eat an entire pound of all on his own, so by the time dinner is over and they head to the living room for some post-meal reality TV, Dylan's pretty relaxed.

Mr. Murphy picks up the remote and raises an eyebrow at Dylan. "Should we look for an episode of Supernanny?"

Dylan snorts. "You're hilarious."

"I am," Mr. Murphy agrees. "We've got House Hunters, if that works for everyone."

Dylan wriggles until he has the giant otter placed just right under his ribs and settles in for an episode of _people with too much money who have no idea what they want_. "Let's do this," he says. Just as Mr. Murphy hits play, Dylan's phone rings.

Mr. Murphy starts laughing as he pauses again. "Do you need to take that?" He's been lightly teasing Dylan about having a second career as a VJ ever since the interview aired.

Dylan rolls his eyes, but his phone is flashing Aaron's name. "Yeah, sorry. It's my agent." He shrugs a shoulder. "It should be pretty quick. He's been keeping me updated on the team situation."

"Dylan," Aaron says cheerfully when he answers. "Are you sitting down?"

"Laying, actually," Dylan says. "What's up?"

"I have your new contract in front of me. Welcome to the Islanders."

Dylan sits bolt upright. "What? I'm... I'm what?"

"Honey?" Mrs. Murphy asks, reaching for him.

Dylan grabs her hand. "Say that again."

"Your trade went through today," Aaron says. "You're officially an Islander, Dylan."

"I'm an Islander," Dylan repeats, just to put it out there in the world and make it real.

"You're," Mr. Murphy says, then whoops. "An Islander! Dylan!"

Aaron laughs. "I wanted to let you know as soon as it came through," he says. "You're obviously with people. I'll forward you the details, and you can call me tomorrow with any questions, okay?"

"Okay," Dylan says faintly. "I'm... Aaron, thank you."

"You're welcome," Aaron says warmly. "Have a good night."

Dylan hangs up and lets his phone drop. "Can you—can one of you repeat back what I just said?"

"You're an Islander," Mrs. Murphy says, beaming as she hauls him in for a hug. "Oh, honey. I'm so happy for you."

"I need," Dylan says, laughing shakily. "I have to call Mitch. And Davo."

"And half of Canada," Mr. Murphy teases. "Congratulations, Dylan. You earned this."

"Thanks," Dylan says. He stands up and grabs his otter, texting Mitch as he heads for his room. He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes already. _good news call me!!_

Mitch calls back in under a minute. "What's the good news?"

Dylan starts sobbing. He tries to choke out what Aaron had said, but he can't form words.

"Babe, what's wrong?" Mitch says softly. "I thought you said it was good news. Do you want me to call Brinksy, have him come over?"

"No," Dylan manages. "Aaron. Aaron called."

Mitch inhales sharply. "Who picked you up?"

"Islanders," Dylan says, taking a shuddering breath. "Mitch. I'm an Islander."

"Fuck yes! I knew it!" Mitch whoops so loud it hurts Dylan's ears a little.

Dylan smiles so hard his face hurts, and starts sobbing again.

"Shit. Okay, I'm calling Brinksy and then I'll call you back," Mitch says. "You deserve celly hugs right now."

"Gotta call Connor," Dylan chokes out. "Babe. I'm gonna play again."

"Fuck yeah, you are, because you're the best!"

"I love you," Dylan says. "So much. I'm gonna call Connor."

Mitch sighs happily. "I love you too. And I'll totally kick your ass next time the Leafs are in New York."

"In your dreams," Dylan replies. "Two Stromes, one Marner. We outnumber you."

"Nah, you count as both now," Mitch says cheerily.

Dylan snorts. "As if." And then he hangs up before Mitch can defend his family's honour. He takes a minute to blow his nose and take a sip of water from the bottle on his bedstand before he dials Connor.

Connor somehow manages to lose his shit even more than Mitch had. "I knew it," he yells from somewhere in the room he's in. He'd dropped the phone as soon as Dylan had told him the news, and Dylan can't be anything but grateful, because Connor's being _loud_. "I fucking knew it!"

Dylan laughs and waits for him to come back, but Nuge picks up the phone first. "Hi," he says mildly. "I'm going out on a limb here, since all I have to go on is Connor losing his shit, but: congrats on the trade, sweetie pie."

"Thanks a lot, honey bunch."

"Good deal," Nuge says approvingly. "Where to?"

Dylan takes a deep breath. "Brooklyn. With my brother."

"That's great," Nuge says sincerely. "I'm happy for you, man."

"Thanks," Dylan says, grinning and hugging his otter. "Is he, uh. Is he done, or..."

There's another whooping noise from the background, then a pause. "Nope," Nuge says after a moment. "He's taking a victory lap around the living room. I think Hallsy's about to tackle him."

"Okay," Dylan says, laughing. "Well, tell him to call me when he can sit still again. I've got more calls to make."

Nuge snorts. "You might want to try back tomorrow, _really_ early in the morning. He let Gaz talk him into doing a shot for every point he scored."

"Wow," Dylan says. "That sounds like a terrible plan."

"It's a good thing he's good at hockey," Nuge says. He probably means to sound long-suffering, but Dylan can hear how fucking fond he is. "I should go protect his virtue, anyway. Last I saw Ebs was talking about his hat trick, and Hallsy looked shifty."

"You have fun with that, sugar," Dylan says.

"Take care of yourself, sweetpea," Nuge replies, and hangs up.

Dylan's grinning as he checks his phone; he'd heard a few texts come in while he was talking to Nuge. Brinksy's text is full of exclamation points and emoji; JT's is a little more coherent. _Just got the call. Welcome to the team! Haven't told Ryan. Your news not mine._ Okay, then. Dylan's calling Ryan next so JT won't have an aneurysm from keeping it to himself.

Ryan picks up on the second ring. "Hey," he says. "Good job with Sarnia. How's preparation for facing the husband going?"

"Pretty good," Dylan replies nonchalantly. "Looking forward to kicking his ass when I'm in New York next season."

"When you're," Ryan says, then pauses. "Holy shit, holy _shit, _Dyls, are you—"__

__"An Islander," Dylan finishes, starting to laugh. "If you don't believe me, ask our captain."_ _

__"Oh my god," Ryan shouts. "Tavares! You knew! You lying bastard!"_ _

__"Don't kill him," Dylan advises. "He helped make this happen. You should _reward_ him."_ _

__"I'll reward him, all right," Ryan mutters. There's sounds like he's moving around. "John! Where the hell—"_ _

__" _John_?" Dylan interrupts, delighted. "This is new! Tell me about this."_ _

__"Oh my god, Dyls," Ryan whispers. "I just found him in the kitchen. He has champagne."_ _

__Dylan disguises his laugh as a cough, because he's a fucking excellent brother, thanks. "Enjoy a glass for me," he says. "Since, you know. Pregnant."_ _

__"I, uh... yeah, I'll do that," Ryan replies, apparently distracted by whatever JT is doing. "Fucking forearms," he mutters, as Dylan hears the cork pop._ _

__"Use protection," Dylan singsongs, and then he hangs up._ _

__Dylan flops back onto the bed and lets himself bask in the warm, happy glow for a minute, cuddling his otter. There are so many people who are happy for him in this moment._ _

__He hears someone clomping up the stairs at full speed and smiles widely. Brinksy throws the door open a few seconds later and doesn't even pause before hurling himself onto the bed. "You got traded!" he shouts, flinging his arms around Dylan and the otter and hugging them tightly. The three of them don't fit on the bed very well, so Brinksy almost bounces off and lands on the floor, but his cuddling power will not be denied._ _

__"We need to kick the otter out," Brinksy says after a minute. "I'm under strict orders from Marns to, and I quote, 'hug the shit out of Dylan.' Otter not included."_ _

__Dylan laughs. "Okay, just this once I'm betraying the sacred oath of the otter." He shoves it out of bed, and it barely hits the floor before Brinksy's wrapped solidly around him._ _

__"New York," Brinksy croons._ _

__"I got traded," Dylan says, smiling into Brinksy's hair. "They know. And they still want me."_ _

__"Yaaaaay," Brinksy cheers. "Who else do we get to brag to?"_ _

__"I have to call my parents still," Dylan says. "And the rest of the guys. Wanna text them while I call?"_ _

__Brinksy lets go of Dylan and salutes. "Yes captain."_ _

__Matt's at home, so Dylan calls him and has him sit in the living room with speakerphone on so he can deliver the news to everyone at once. His parents are thrilled, and Matt vows to somehow get himself drafted to the Isles, too. "I'll stow away in your suitcase if I have to."_ _

__Dylan just laughs and promises Mom he'll call his grandparents tomorrow when it's not so late._ _

__When he hangs up, Brinksy grins at him. "The guys are throwing you a party," he announces. "A really low-key, super boring party. Egan mentioned board games."_ _

__Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Remind them that we still have semi-finals coming up and they should have better shit to do."_ _

__"We're doing it instead of the team bonding thing Coach planned for tomorrow afternoon," Brinksy says, waving a hand at him. "I think they're all cancelling laser tag for this."_ _

__Dylan blinks. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard."_ _

__Brinksy pats his arm. "Marchy volunteered to buy all the pretzels at the Giant Eagle for you. We've got your back, Stromer."_ _

__For the second time in as many hours Dylan bursts into tears._ _

__"I can tell him not to!" Brinksy yelps, dropping his phone and looking at Dylan, panicked. "Whoa, man, sorry!"_ _

__Dylan just flaps a hand at him. It's just... a lot. For a while he really thought his career was over, and yeah, he knows it isn't going to be easy _at all_ , but he has it back. And he has his family._ _

__His phone rings again, and Brinksy grabs for it. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and then he just goes, "Uh. Jack Eichel is calling you."_ _

__Jack can totally deal with him being a mess, Dylan decides as he grabs his phone and answers it. "Hi," he sniffs._ _

__"Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" Jack demands. "Start with that so I know how to react."_ _

__"Good?" Dylan hazards. "Why are you calling if you don't know?"_ _

__"Davo," Jack says dryly. "He just texted your name, like, twenty times to the draft chat. I volunteered to see what the fuck was up with that."_ _

__"I'm going to Brooklyn," Dylan chokes out, and starts sniffling again._ _

__"Fuck yes," Jack says, and Dylan can almost see him fistpumping. "Goddamn right you are. It's official?"_ _

__"My agent has the new contract."_ _

__"I'm glad you're out of that cesspit," Jack says. "I'll let the rest of the guys know that it's not actually an emergency." He pauses. "And fuck, how drunk is Davo right now? It is _not_ that hard to spell your name."_ _

__"He lives with Hallsy and Gaz," Dylan points out. "What do you think?"_ _

__"I think maybe I should be concerned about him instead of you right now," Jack muses. "I can't fly to Edmonton, Stromer. I have a bunch of postseason shit to do here."_ _

__"Nuge is babysitting, don't worry," Dylan says. "Thanks for calling, Eichs."_ _

__"Noah's probably going to cry at you," Jack warns him._ _

__"Tell him to wait," Dylan says. "I'm going to dehydrate if I cry any more today, and if he cries, I'm gonna cry."_ _

__"Fine, but you're dealing with Crouse," Jack replies._ _

__"I can handle Crouse," Dylan says. Mitch can handle Crouse, actually, but Jack doesn't need to know that._ _

__Jack grunts, says congrats, and then hangs up. Dylan just stares at the ceiling for a minute and then he cracks up laughing._ _

__"Do you need another hug?" Brinksy asks cautiously._ _

__"Always," Dylan replies, "but I think Eichs needs a nap even more than I do."_ _

__"I can help with the hug," Brinksy says, wriggling his way back against Dylan's side. "Eichs is on his own with the nap, though."_ _

__Dylan snorts. "He's a big boy; he can handle it. Even if he is grumpy as hell."_ _

__"Speaking of grumpy," Brinksy says. "I brought an overnight bag, so I can be your body pillow again."_ _

__Dylan pets his hair. "Don't worry; your internship is nearly over. Davo'll be here just as soon as his hangover wears off."_ _

__"July," Brinksy predicts, grinning._ _

__"I'm calling him back first thing tomorrow morning," Dylan confides. "It's going to hurt."_ _

__"Awesome," Brinksy says. "Is there anyone else you need to call, or can we go crash the House Hunters marathon until you're ready to sleep?"_ _

__"I am _so_ done with my phone." Dylan puts it on silent and sets it on the side table. "Let's go make fun of people with too much money."_ _


	16. Chapter 16

Connor's flight lands while Dylan's in a meeting with Coach, so Dylan sends Brinksy to ferry him from the airport to the Murphys'. Brinksy's car is still parked outside when Dylan gets home, and Dylan makes a mental note to congratulate him for most likely talking Connor out of showing up at the rink and 'rescuing' Dylan from Coach. It had been an important meeting; they'd talked strategy for the London series, and it had taken longer than normal because Coach actually scheduled in bathroom and snack breaks for Dylan.

He barely gets through the front door before he's tackled.

"Gently, I said," Brinksy yells from somewhere to Dylan's left.

Connor tucks Dylan against his side like a puppy that hasn't quite figured out how to play fetch yet—my toy, you can't have it. "I'm being gentle," he protests. "See, look." He reaches up to carefully comb his hand through Dylan's hair.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "Can I at least take off my coat?"

Connor sideways-hugs him hard for a second before letting him go. "Okay. If you insist."

Dylan can feel Connor's eyes on him as he shrugs off his outer layer. "Dude, I'm not going to disappear if you go back to the sofa."

"I know, but Brinksy said," Connor starts, and then falls silent. When Dylan turns and raises an eyebrow at him, Connor's staring and smiling like his life depends on it. "Oh. There it is."

Dylan starts smiling back. He knows exactly why Connor's staring, now. He smooths his hand over the little bump where the speck's growing.

"Wow," Connor says, looking up and beaming at Dylan. "That's... wow, Dylan."

"You should've seen Mitch's face the first time he noticed." Dylan's voice wobbles but he doesn't care.

"Aww," Connor coos, coming closer and hugging Dylan again. He wraps his arms all the way around Dylan and rocks a little. "Did you cry?"

"That's what you always ask," Dylan complains.

"Yeah, but sometimes you do," Brinksy pipes up.

"Shh," Dylan says. "No comments from the peanut gallery."

"Nah, not comments," Brinksy says. "I'm taking video."

"Okay, but seriously," Connor says before Dylan can complain. "I need to know what my duties are here."

"Body pillow," Brinksy says immediately. "You get that honour now, dude."

Connor snorts. "Well, I know that." Then he turns to Dylan. "Anything you need, just tell me."

"Will do," Dylan promises. He turns to Brinksy. "Thanks, man. For getting Davo, and for not bitching too much about the whole bed-sharing thing."

Brinksy raises an eyebrow. "What happens on the road stays on the road."

"Uh. Okay," Dylan replies.

Connor glances between them, confused. "Wait, what am I missing?"

Brinksy gets up and heads for the door. "Bye, Davo! See you at the rink."

Connor waves halfheartedly before turning back to Dylan. "What was that about?"

Dylan shakes his head. "I've been sworn to secrecy."

It's not that Dylan had forgotten that Connor has an epic pouty face, but apparently his lack of recent exposure has made it that much more devastating when Connor turns it on him. "Aw, c'mon."

"Nope, I at least require dinner first," Dylan teases.

"What do you want?" Connor says, grinning. "I've learned to cook some stuff." He pauses, then adds, "And I still have all the numbers for Erie delivery saved in my phone."

"Well, Nuge and Gaz aren't dead yet, so I guess you really did learn to cook." Dylan elbows Connor in the ribs. "What's in your repertoire?"

"Spaghetti," Connor says. "I'm good at spaghetti. And I'm figuring out, like, marinades for chicken breasts, but those take time."

"Aww, you're all grown up." Dylan mimes wiping away a fake tear.

Connor shrugs. "Ryan likes," he starts, and then blushes.

"Oooh, tell me more about _Ryan_ ," Dylan teases. Then on second thought he adds, "But. uh, call him Nuge if it's sex stuff. I do not need to think about my brother that way."

Connor gets a devilish grin on his face. "Let me tell you all about _Ryan_ ," he says, throwing an arm over Dylan's shoulders.

"I still have gossip you want," Dylan bargains.

"I can get that from Brinksy," Connor says. "I'm willing to negotiate, though. I'll use a nickname if you tell me what you and my boyfriend text about." He pouts. "He just laughs when I ask him."

Dylan narrows his eyes. "You drive a hard bargain, McDavid. Just remember I have another ultrasound coming up."

"And you can't hold ultrasound pictures from me," Connor tosses in. "Like, ever."

Dylan folds his arms. "I held them from my parents for a whole month."

"You had a reason," Connor says. "A super legit reason."

"Preserving my own sanity is a legit reason," Dylan points out.

Connor makes a face. "Please don't compare me to your parents when your parents were being dicks."

Oops. "Fine, you win this time."

Dylan leads Connor into the kitchen, and together they manage to scavenge up a meal that's a few rungs above frozen pizza. It's edible, which isn't always a given when Dylan tries to cook, so he's pretty pleased with himself. He's also pleased when their gossip truce doesn't devolve into a food fight; cleaning the Murphys' kitchen isn't something he feels like doing right now.

Dylan tells him the absolutely not-exciting details of the text conversations he and Nuge have had. It's mostly been them plotting out new and ridiculous nicknames to call each other, and a few questions that Nuge has had about stuff Connor likes to do.

"Snickerdoodle?" Connor says when he's managed to stop laughing long enough to get some breath back. "Which one of you is that?"

"Me, obviously, because it's an American thing and I play for American teams."

"What's he, then?" Connor asks.

"Nutter Butter," Dylan says promptly, and Connor loses it again.

He stumbles into the living room clutching his stomach, crying with laughter as he flops on the sofa. "You two," Connor manages to gasp.

Dylan reaches out, but all that's in range is Connor's foot, so he pats that. "I like him," he says. "You can keep him."

Connor smiles at him brightly. "Oh, good. I like him too."

"That's good." Dylan tries very hard to keep his face blank. He has no idea if Nuge has dropped the L-bomb yet.

"Do you think," he asks, then pauses and sighs, shifting until he's laying across the sofa with his feet in Dylan's lap. "Do you think it's too soon to bring him home?"

Dylan bites his lip to keep himself from screeching out loud. "Not if it's what you both want."

"He, uh." Connor glances at Dylan, and his face is doing that gooey smile thing that Dylan can't handle without smiling helplessly back. "We talked about it, yeah. We're both in this for real." He hesitates for a second before blurting out, "He said he loves me. On his birthday. He said his birthday gift to himself was him telling me that."

Dylan smiles so hard his face hurts a little. "That's awesome, Davo. You _have_ to bring him to the wedding reception thing this summer."

"I will," Connor promises, still beaming. He laughs a little. "I thought going to Edmonton would be the worst, y'know? But it's turned out to be way more awesome than I thought it could be."

Dylan wriggles out from under Connor's feet and stretches out for a full-body hug. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Connor says, hugging him tightly. "If you told last-year-us that we'd be here right now, with everything that's going on, I don't think we'd believe now-us."

Dylan snorts. "I don't think last-year-us would've been listening. We had playoff brain."

"We would've thought now-us were some sort of evil alternate universe clones," Connor muses. "Sent by the other teams to confuse us into losing."

"Yeah, probably." Dylan rests a hand on his stomach, his mind racing with everything he has to do by the end of the year. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Always," Connor promises.

Dylan swallows hard. "I'm kinda scared. I don't know how to be someone's dad." He's been trying to push it aside and think about the things he has to get done right now—get through the playoffs, move back to Canada, keep in contact with the Isles, try to stay in shape as much as he can. But the summer's coming up fast, and they're going to be so busy it'll be over before they know it.

Connor hugs him a little harder for a moment. "Can I tell _you_ a secret?"

Dylan just nods.

"I don't think anybody ever knows," Connor says. "I think even when you already have a kid, then you don't know how to be a dad to two kids, or three kids. Everybody's just making it up as they go along." He smiles. "And you've got a huge safety net. Lots of people in your corner."

"I know, but..." Dylan takes a shaky breath, his eyes starting to burn. "Fuck, I thought I was nervous on draft day, but this is so much bigger. And the media isn't really paying attention yet, but when they do, I'll have all these people just waiting for me to screw up so they can get page hits."

"Another secret," Connor says. "You're allowed to screw up, Dyls. You don't have to be perfect."

"I want to be, though," Dylan admits. "I know I can't, and it's driving me a little nuts. Is that stupid?"

Connor shakes his head. "Trust me, since moving to Edmonton I've learned all about trying to achieve the impossible."

"You're doing well," Dylan says, frowning. "You're doing really well, Connor. It's amazing, what you did this year."

"Yeah," Connor says simply. "I'm doing well. And so will you."

Dylan makes a face. "New York, though."

"New York," Connor agrees. "You're gonna be a part of it, New York, New York..."

"Don't sing," Dylan begs.

Connor ignores him. "You'll make a brand new start of it in old New York..."

"That's not the next line."

Connor rolls onto his back and kicks his feet in the air, probably trying for his own personal kick line. "It's up to you, New York, New York," he sings. Connor's singing is horrible, and Dylan has to facewash him if only to protect his unborn baby's delicate ears.

"Start spreading the news," Connor mumbles against Dylan's hand.

"No, please, just stop."

Connor laughs. "But you're gonna wake up in the city that doesn't sleep," he protests, but at least he's just quoting now instead of singing. "King of the hill! Top of the heap!"

"Yeah, and I'm married to a dude who's never played for a team that isn't based out of Ontario," Dylan blurts out, then he snaps his jaw shut. That... isn't what he meant to say. He _knows_ Mitch loves him.

Connor softens instantly, curling back around Dylan. "Hey. It's not so far, right? If anyone can make it work, it's you and Mitch." He sounds so sure.

"His parents still come to every home game," Dylan says in a small voice. "What if it's too hard?" Okay, apparently his brain's been bottling up and distilling paranoid thoughts so he could spill them to Connor. Great.

"Then you talk to him about it," Connor says softly. "He's crazy about you, Dylan. He's just..." He trails off and shakes his head. "He loves you way more than he loves hockey. You know that, right?"

Dylan nods. "I think maybe I need to stop watching The Bachelor. All those people making commitments when they barely know each other is making me freak out. Like... we're already married and having a kid, but we've never even lived together."

Connor hums a little. "What does he order when you guys get sushi?"

"Whatever I make a grossed-out face at," Dylan says promptly. "And spicy tuna rolls."

"Right side of the bed or left?"

"Left," Dylan says.

"Do you believe him when he says he loves you?"

Dylan stares. "What the fuck kind of question is that? Of course I do."

"Dyls," Connor says. "You're going to be fine. You guys are going to be amazing."

"But—"

"And if it doesn't work out," Connor continues instead of letting Dylan keep doom-spiralling, "you'll still be fine. Because you're amazing all by yourself." He hugs Dylan close.

Dylan closes his eyes and leans into it. "I'm really glad you're my best friend."

"I'm really glad I'm here," Connor replies. "No more Bachelor though, for sure. You don't need to watch 11 seasons of breakups."

"Survivor, though," Dylan says. "That's totally still on, right?"

"If you can handle the gross eating competitions."

"Trust me," Dylan says, laughing, "you'll be the first person to know if I can't."

Connor snuggles down. "Bring it on; I'm not going anywhere. Not until Mitch kicks me out."

"We can get at least half a season in before then," Dylan says, reaching for the remote and flipping through the DVR. "Let's do it."

-0-

They're operating on a strict "teams before husbands" mantra, but Mitch still texts Dylan as soon as the London bus crosses into Pennsylvania. _meet a lil early at the rink? 5mins, just need to hug u_

Dylan's not heartless enough to say no. It's not like he doesn't want to, either, and when he tells Brinksy to cover him while he goes to say hi, Brinksy gives him a weird look. "Stromer, they all know," he says slowly. "You told them months ago. It's not a secret."

Dylan makes a face. "Playoffs are different. It feels like spying for the enemy."

"You're so fucking weird," Brinksy mutters. "Go. I won't tell them."

Dylan sneaks down the hall, ducking his head so his face is in shadow wherever possible. "I feel like I should be humming the Mission Impossible song," he mutters to himself. He texts Mitch once he's in position and hopes his phone doesn't self destruct.

Mitch pops around the corner half a minute later and beelines for him, throwing his arms around Dylan and hugging him tightly. "Hi," he breathes.

"Hi yourself," Dylan replies. "Did you miss me? I can't tell."

Mitch pulls back a little, apparently just so he has a good angle to roll his eyes. "Like you didn't call me crying a few days ago."

Dylan kisses him to shut him up, just a quick press of lips. It totally works, too; Mitch sighs and snuggles back into him. "Connor says hi, by the way," Dylan says to the top of Mitch's head.

"Hi to Connor," Mitch says obediently. "Tell him I'm coming for my spot in your bed as soon as we kick your team's ass."

Dylan snorts. "I'm sure he's terrified. Shaking in his skates."

"He's not in skates," Mitch says. "Or he'd better not be, at least. We are totally not prepared for him to make a one-series reappearance in the O."

"I'm not giving away any secrets," Dylan replies, taking the opportunity to poke Mitch in the ribs while he's off-guard.

"Wait, wait," Mitch says, wriggling away again. "Make him wear that godawful suit. Make him wear it _the whole series_."

Dylan facewashes him. "Go get ready to be slaughtered."

Mitch grins before leaning up to kiss him. "Love you," he says.

"Love you too, you sap." Dylan puts his hand on the back of Mitch's neck and kisses him breathless. For the good of the team.

Mitch grins when they finally separate. "I'll text you after," he says. "Win or lose." And then he turns and walks back around the corner.

Dylan hates to see him leave but he loves to watch him go. He takes a few seconds to compose himself before heading back to his team. They've got a series to win, and he's got a best friend to talk into wearing an awful suit. Mitch had probably been kidding, but Dylan's not above using Connor as a good luck charm for his team.

As it turns out, Connor's been away from Brinksy's sad eyes long enough to have lost his immunity. The guys all whoop when Connor puts the suit on, and Dylan makes him pose for a selfie.

"I hate you," Connor says through his media smile.

"Don't care," Dylan says. His smile is totally genuine, and it's all he can do to not laugh his ass off. "You're wearing it."

He puts the selfie up on Instagram and surprise surprise, Mitch is the first person to comment. _EPIC_ is the only word there, but there are a bunch of hockey stick emojis and, randomly, a flower.

_GET TO WORK_ Dylan replies, and turns off his phone before the inevitable #wife comments start rolling in.

"Dude," Taylor comments, snorting at his phone. "You're so married."

Dylan throws a jock strap at him.

"Okay," Coach says loudly, clapping his hands . "Let's get our minds on the game."

They spend the next twenty minutes reviewing some of the London-specific details they'd covered in practice, and then the team heads out for their warmup skate.

Dylan waits until they're all gone and then takes a deep breath. "We can do this, Coach."

"Damn right," Coach says. "It's an amazing group of guys, and they know exactly who they're playing for." He grins a little at Dylan and nods at Connor. "No offense, Davo, but it ain't you in that suit."

Connor pouts melodramatically. "You mean I did this for nothing?"

"Shock value," Coach says, nodding. "We put you with Stromer behind the bench, and you'll distract London on the ice. Solid tactic." He looks like he's about to start laughing.

"I'll jump up and down or something," Connor says, grinning. "Do the Hokey Pokey."

Dylan grins. "Just make sure you keep your head up or someone might mistake you for Don Cherry."

"I have too much hair for that," Connor says. "And my jacket matches my tie."

"Don Cherry is very envious," Dylan says, nodding. "Congratulations."

Connor rolls his eyes and sniffs. "He only wishes he could have a suit this memorable."

Coach just shakes his head and pops the collar of the jacket Dylan gave him for breaking crazy OHL records. He won't wear it during the game, but pregame skate is totally jacket time. Dylan can't help but smile.

There's a yelp from the ice and when he looks up Taylor has Brinksy in a headlock.

"Do I want to know?" Dylan wonders.

Coach claps him on the back. "Probably not," he says. "You should definitely find out anyway, Captain."

Dylan whistles loudly and waves them over to the bench. They both freeze and look at him before Taylor slowly lets go of Brinksy and makes a show of helping him stand up. Dylan's trying to hide a grin by the time they make their way over.

"What's up, Cap?" Brinksy says, straightening his helmet.

"You tell me," Dylan replies, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," Taylor and Brinksy chime in at the same time.

Dylan crosses his arms over his chest and tries to raise his eyebrow higher. He can outwait them; one of them will crack eventually.

Taylor casts a sideways glance at Brinksy and then, in the spirit of youngest children everywhere, blurts out "He started it!" with full confidence Dylan will believe him.

Brinksy sighs longsufferingly. "Stromer. Captain. _Dylan_." He looks Dylan straight in the eye. "I did _not_."

"There's one person I'm willing to put up with this shit for," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. Both of them glance towards where Mitch is skating lazy circles around his own net, but Dylan clears his throat and pointedly rests his hand on his bump. "Save your energy for the game," he adds, "or Connor will bring back the get-along shirt."

"I'll make you both wear this jacket at the same time," Connor adds, popping up over Dylan's shoulder. "It doesn't fit either one of you. Imagine if you had to share."

They both skate away looking contrite, and as soon as they're out of earshot Coach cracks up laughing. "I don't know what's better," he says when he catches his breath. "Your Dad voice actually getting to them, or the thought of them trying to share the jacket."

Connor stares, and says to Dylan in a stage whisper, "Oh my god, you broke Coach."

Dylan pats his arm consolingly. "Don't worry, he'll get better."

Connor doesn't look convinced; he ends up spending the whole warmup carefully making sure Dylan is between him and Coach as a buffer.

The guys file off the ice when Coach finally blows his whistle, and Dylan's there with a fistbump for everyone as they head back into the locker room for last-minute prep and Dylan's pre-game speech.

He doesn't have a lot to say that they haven't already heard, but he gives it his best. "And don't punch my husband," he says as he wraps up, then pauses for effect. "Unless he's being a little shit, of course. Gotta defend Otters honour."

Connor leads a cheer, because he's ridiculous, and the team all head out for puck drop. 

The game is intense. It's like the last two games of the season all over again, except somehow the score stays within one all game. Dylan keeps his mouth shut at intermission, too nervous to come up with anything useful to say. His hands are itching to pick up a stick; he just _knows_ he could make a difference.

"They can do it," Connor says, grabbing Dylan's hand. "They're gonna, Dyls. Breathe."

Dylan just nods and squeezes Connor's hand until the final buzzer sounds.

"Hell yes!" Brinksy screams, throwing his arms into the air, and Dylan lets out his breath all at once, elated. It's just the first game, but they did it.

Taylor leans over and knocks his glove against Dylan's shoulder gently. "Gonna win you three more," he says, and Dylan believes him.

-0-

They take the game the next night at home too, and then they have a day off before they have to travel to London for game three. Dylan isn't really paying attention until after he's inhaled breakfast, but once he starts looking... Yeah, Connor is totally glued to his phone about as much as he's usually glued to the puck. He keeps chewing his toast while he thinks about the best way to tease Connor. He has to make it count.

He mulls it over, waiting until Connor's just taken a sip of coffee. "So, does Nuge have morning wood?"

It's perfect; Connor dribbles coffee down his shirt and drops his phone. He stares at Dylan in horror. It's beautiful.

Dylan gestures innocently at Connor's phone, which lights up with a new text as he does. "I mean, he's probably just getting up, right? Prime time for Skype sex."

Connor tries to speak but all that comes out is a high, whining noise. Dylan plants his elbow on the table and props his chin in his hand. "Nothing's stopping you from going _back to bed_ for a while. I'm good down here."

"You're the worst," Conor finally manages. His cheeks are bright red as he bends over to grab his phone. "Why am I even friends with you?"

"Because you _love_ me," Dylan coos, kicking Connor's ankle under the table.

"I should have just gone back to BC with him," Connor mutters. "He asked. I said no, I was gonna come see you for the playoffs, that I'd see him in a few weeks." He glares a little. "If I was there, I wouldn't have to deal with this."

"If you were there, you could _deal with_ his boner in person," Dylan shoots back, waggling his eyebrows.

Connor crosses his arm. "Yes, I could. And it would be _great_. You're not the only person in the world who ever has sex, Dyls."

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "You did hear me suggesting you should go upstairs and jerk off over the phone with him, right?"

Connor doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead he shoves away from the table and heads for the stairs, pausing only to flip Dylan the bird when he starts catcalling.

Dylan takes his time cleaning up and then flops onto the sofa. He's not going to jerk off without the privacy of a locked door, but that doesn't mean he can't text Mitch some... inspiring thoughts. Mitch texts him back a string of fire emoji.

Dylan grins and sends him a selfie. He knows he kind of looks like a mess; breakfast had taken precedence over things like getting dressed or showering. Mitch replies with a photo of himself biting his lip, and a string of praying hands.

Ah, the benefits of not having to be at team breakfast. Dylan grins and sends another selfie, tilting his head back and making sure he gets a good shot of the side of his neck that Mitch likes marking up. There's nothing visible there now, but Dylan's pretty sure his message will come across.

_1 more week and i'll get payback_ , Mitch replies. 

Dylan's still trying to think of a reply when he gets a series of notifications. Apparently the team took exception to Mitch's phone addiction, because it's a series of pictures—Pu, Juo, Dvorak... and an angry Mitch reaching for his phone.

Dylan laughs. Well, if they're asking for it, he can absolutely deliver. His next selfie is of his hand stuck down the front of his sweatpants. He's not doing anything exciting, but you definitely can't tell that from the photo.

His phone goes completely quiet for several long minutes and then it starts ringing. It's Brinksy.

"Uh, hi?" Dylan says when he answers. "What's up?"

"Why did Olli just send me a bunch of crying emoji?"

"Since when is he _Olli_ , huh?" Dylan asks. "Also, why do you assume it's my fault?"

Brinksy sighs the long-suffering sigh of a put-upon assistant captain. "Since I started sucking his dick on the regular, and it's always your fault."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Dylan demands. "Is this how you're telling me? Brinksy. Alexander. Tell me everything."

"I keep telling you, not everybody is limited to the Disney definition of a relationship," Brinksy complains.

Dylan pouts, even though Brinksy can't see him. "You're the one who said _on the regular_. You never said he was a regular hookup, either." He sighs loudly. "I thought it was just a World Juniors thing. And then maybe a when-we're-playing-them thing. I don't know _anything_ anymore."

"We just played them," Brinksy points out. "And we're playing them again, twice."

"You're not going to give me an answer, are you?"

Brinksy sighs again. "Not the one you want to hear. It's a thing that's happening but it'll probably be over by summer."

"That's an answer, at least," Dylan says. "And Brinks? If you're good with it, if it's making you happy for now, then get it." He grins.

"I'd be happier if you weren't traumatising him so much he might suffer from limp dick forever," Brinsky replies. "You're the worst."

"No, hey, you don't get to blame me for well-deserved payback," Dylan protests. "I wouldn't have sent that pic at all if he and a bunch of the other guys didn't steal Mitch's phone."

"He neglected to tell me that part," Brinksy admits.

Dylan has an Idea. "How fast can you get over here? And bring your jersey." Maybe they can even rope Connor into it, once he's done.

Brinksy snickers. "Give me, like, fifteen," he promises.

Connor wanders downstairs a few minutes later, looking pretty satisfied with himself. "Hey," Dylan says casually. "Want to traumatise some Knights?"

"Yes," Connor says instantly, then visibly backtracks. "Wait. How?"

Dylan outlines Mitch's tale of woe and his payback plan of piling onto the sofa with Brinksy, in their Otters jerseys and not much else. "But like, we'll totally wear basketball shorts for plausible deniability."

"We should do it in your bed," Connor says. "More room."

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "Davo, I thought you'd never ask."

Connor grins and sweeps a bow, then holds his hand out. "Let's go set the stage."

Brinksy shows up in under half an hour, bouncing on his toes. Dylan bites his tongue and _does not_ comment about Brinksy's eagerness to get half-naked and tease his not-boyfriend.

They take about a dozen different shots, with all of them in different positions on the bed, but the one they end up going with is Dylan's personal favourite. He's on his back in the middle, with Brinksy curled around one side, his bare leg thrown over Dylan's, and Connor sitting on his other side, hand resting just above Dylan's knee. The angle's bizarre, because there's only so much you can do even with the benefit of a selfie stick, but it's pretty much exactly what Dylan had in mind. Brinksy's shorts are riding up to reveal kind of _a lot_ of thigh, but that seems to be what he was aiming for too.

Dylan shoots off a quick text to Mitch, confirming he's got his phone back, before sending the photo with the caption _choose your targets wisely_.

_i love you_ Mitch replies, followed by four thumbs-up emojis and an eggplant.

_same_ , Dylan sends back before dropping his phone to his chest and grinning. "Mission accomplished," he says. "Good game."

"There ain't no party like an Otters slumber party!" Brinksy crows.

"Because at an Otters slumber party, everyone looks like they just rolled out of an orgy?" Connor guesses, poking at Brinksy's thigh.

Dylan cracks up laughing. "Stop, you're corrupting my child."

"Not the baby," Brinksy shouts, curling farther around Dylan's middle. He pauses, looks at the bump, then twists so he can look up at Dylan. "Wait, where are the ears?"

Dylan shrugs. "Somewhere in there along with all the other bits."

"Good enough," Brinksy says, covering the whole bump very carefully with both hands. "Stop saying things, Davo. There are tiny ears."

"You shouldn't talk about yourself that way," Connor says really earnestly. "You'll grow, Brinks. It's okay."

Brinksy scowls at him. "I still have no idea why he picked _you_ to be the godfather."

"I picked me," Connor says. "Dylan's just too smart to say no."

Dylan sighs. "It's true, he took advantage of my weakness."

"Also he loves me best," Connor adds, and that's when Brinksy tackles him off the bed.

"Children, please," Dylan says, trying not to crack up again. "I love you both."

"You love him more," Brinksy whines from somewhere around the vicinity of Connor's abs.

"I promise to love you more if you win me the Memorial Cup," Dylan says solemnly.

Brinksy punches the air. "Hah! Suck it, grandpa!"

There's a few seconds of complete silence before Connor cracks up. "What the hell?"

"Duh," Brinksy says, ruffling Connor's hair. "The captain is team dad. Last year that was you; this year's it's Dylan. That makes you the speck's team grandpa."

"No," Connor whines, curling around Brinksy on the floor. "I'm the godfather. And the cool uncle."

"Yeah, you looked really cool in the clown suit," Brinksy says dryly. He looks to Dylan for backup.

"You're definitely the godfather," Dylan allows.

Brinksy starts giggling. "You made Dylan an offer he couldn't refuse."

Connor pats Brinksy's hair. "I'll extend you the same offer some day," he promises, and Dylan cracks up at the sound Brinksy makes.

"For the last goddamn time," Brinksy snaps, "there are _no DeBrin-kittens_. Olli and I know how to glove up."

"The future lasts for a long time," Connor points out. "You never know what's gonna happen in a few years. Or a lot of years." He waggles his eyebrows. "Maybe it'll be a kid you have _on purpose_."

Brinksy facewashes him, and the wrestling is back on. Dylan loves these ridiculous assholes so much.

-0-

The rest of their day off is taken up with laughing at the various responses to "Otters Slumber Party!!!" Juo texts Brinksy at least four different photos of his pouting face, and Brinksy goes out of his way to download a new app so he can make a collage of them to set as Juo's contact photo.

"Treat ‘em mean and keep ‘em keen," Dylan teases, nudging Brinksy with his elbow.

"That is," Brinksy says, pausing and looking up from his phone. "That is _awful_ advice."

Dylan snorts. "It's not advice, it's an observation."

"Does that make your entire first year in the O foreplay?" Connor wonders.

Dylan turns to stare at him, idly wondering if Connor realises what he just said. "It's important to have plenty of foreplay in the O, Davo. If you don't know that I feel very sorry for Nuge."

"I don't fight with Nuge," Connor says promptly. "And I'd threaten to gross you out with actual details, but I'm pretty sure you would actually not be grossed out, and I'd end up being the uncomfortable one. Again."

Dylan smiles sweetly. "Don't worry, Davo. You can tell me all about it when we drive to London."

Connor looks alarmed. "Hey, Brinks, any chance you'd—"

"No way in hell," Brinksy cuts in cheerily. He spends the next hour treating Connor to horror stories of Dylan's new road tripping habits, and then heads home for dinner.

"Ignore him," Dylan says firmly. "Food, sleep, and then we head out in the morning. It's gonna be fun."

It actually is pretty fun, at least for Dylan. He's got a bunch of ridiculous questions to ask Connor, mostly to tease him about his love life, and they've got four hours in the car with no escape. Dylan falls asleep for part of the trip; thanks to the speck he's recently started waking up in the middle of the night with a desperate urge to pee, in addition to his many stops during the day.

He wakes up when Connor stops to stretch in Buffalo, and he grins as they get back in the car. "So," he says, drawing it out for an obnoxiously long time. "Tell me all about _Nuge_."

Connor rolls his eyes. "Don't you mean sweetums?" His initial reaction of abject horror at the pet names Dylan and Nuge call each other has given way to acceptance, and on good days he even offers suggestions.

"Tell me everything about my favourite sugarplum," Dylan says, nodding.

"Oh god, now I'm picturing him in a tutu," Connor says.

Dylan snickers. "Probably don't want to start thinking of him as The Nutcracker."

Connor makes a pained noise and covers his junk with his hands. "That's a horrible thing to say when I'm not wearing a cup."

"I mean, unless you're into that kind of thing," Dylan says, waggling his eyebrows.

Connor shudders. "No, I already get enough of injuries as it is." He launches into a story about Sad Nuge and his minor concussion. "It's such a stupid phrase, y'know? Oh, your brain bounced around in your skull, but only a little bit!"

"He's okay, right?" Dylan asks. Concussions are scary shit.

"He ended the season just fine," Connor replies, "but his brother's going to keep a close eye on him just in case. He's Ryan's trainer, kind of."

"Good," Dylan says. "So when are you gonna go visit snookums? Are you leaving right after the series?"

"I'm going to Worlds," he replies, then blushes. "And then I have some stuff to do in Toronto."

"Oooh, _stuff,_ " Dylan says, nodding. "That sounds important."

"It is very important stuff," Connor says vaguely. "Ryan might come help with the stuff, actually."

"Toronto stuff that your BC boyfriend is helping you with?" Dylan asks, raising an eyebrow. "Must be super important. Why don't I get to know about your super important stuff anymore, Davo?"

"Because you need to focus on winning the Memorial Cup," Connor says, putting back on his Captain Face.

Dylan feels his eyes go wide. "Holy shit, are you moving in with him? Is he moving to Toronto with you?"

"No!" But Connor looks shifty, so Dylan knows he's close to the truth.

"Are you packing up all your shit in Toronto and moving to BC?" he demands. "Don't do that, Connor. Don't move to British Columbia. It's so far away."

"Dyls!" Connor says, horrified. "I'd never abandon you and the baby."

Holy _shit_. "Wait, are you moving in with _me_?"

"Can this wait?" Connor asks. "I mean, please. If it's going to stress you out, we can talk about it, but I don't have anything nailed down yet. I promise I'll let you know when I do."

"Yeah, I—Jesus, Davo, don't scare me like that. But yeah, I trust you," Dylan replies.

"Okay," Connor says, letting out a long breath. "Thanks, Dyls. I promise it's nothing bad, and as soon as your season is over, we can talk about it."

Dylan grins. "That's gonna be a while."

Connor grins back. "It better be."

Connor steers the conversation towards his thoughts on the Otters' PK for the rest of the drive, and Dylan lets him. He has Connor's word, and also, he definitely wants Connor's opinion on what they could be doing better.

All the planning in the world can't save the Otters from shitty puck luck in the next two games, though. Dylan and Connor have to sit on the sidelines as London takes Erie apart. Dylan isn't in much of a mood to cheer the guys up after they drop game four, but he does his best to remind them that they're heading home next. Then he gets Connor to take him back to the hotel as quickly as possible, so he won't cry in front of the team and make them feel worse.

"This sucks," he says when they're firmly locked into their hotel room. "Davo. This _sucks_. I can't even help them."

Connor hugs him tight. "I know, but it's not your fault."

Dylan's really trying not to, but he starts crying anyway. "If I was out there," he says, burying his face in Connor's shoulder.

Connor holds on and rocks him a little. "You're not the only one who missed half a season," he replies, his voice careful and soft. "Maybe if you were out there things would be different, but you can't know that for sure. Maybe it would've turned out exactly the same. As hard as it is, you have to let go."

Dylan just buries his hands in Connor's shirt and keeps crying. Connor's making sense, and rationally Dylan knows that; it's just that right now, rationality isn't helping.

"Just so you know," Connor adds, "you don't have to keep it together for me. I'm here for whatever you need, Dyls."

"Thanks," Dylan chokes out. Right now, all he needs is to hold on as Connor keeps rocking them back and forth. Connor's right, is the thing. Dylan keeps it together for Mitch so he doesn't feel worse about being away from Dylan and the baby. He keeps it together for the team because he's the captain. He keeps it together for the Isles because his future depends on it, and he keeps it together in front of his parents because he doesn't want to give them reason to doubt him. He's always glad for Connor, but especially now; he needs to lose it a little, and Connor's always been safe.

By the time he's done Connor's shirt is soaked in tears and snot, but he doesn't seem to mind. He just gets changed while Dylan's cleaning himself up, and somehow manages to procure ice cream.

"You're the best," Dylan says sincerely, leaning into Connor's side as they destroy a pint of chocolate peanut butter. "Just... thanks, Connor."

"Hey, you'd do the same for me," Connor replies, which is true. Connor leaned pretty heavily on Dylan while he was injured, both metaphorically in painkiller-fueled rambling phone calls and literally, when he came to visit. 

Dylan sighs contentedly, and they settle in to watch whatever looks the worst on Netflix. It's actually a pretty great way to wrap up this shitty road trip.

-0-

They have a day off after the disastrous London road trip, so Dylan spends some quality time moping around in sweatpants and watching highlights of the Isles playoff series against the Bolts. They're up 2-1 in the series, which is satisfying on more levels than Dylan can really even count. Game four is tonight, and Dylan finally has a chance to watch live. Connor doesn't complain when Dylan manhandles him into bed for an early afternoon nap.

They're up in time to eat before puck drop, and Dylan plants himself on the sofa eagerly when the pregame starts. Dylan elbows Connor in the ribs when a photo of Ekblad comes up during the discussion of tomorrow's Florida-Detroit game. "Ah, the one that got away."

"Shut up," Connor says, elbowing him back. "It wasn't like that."

"All you could talk about my first year in Erie was how _big_ his _stick_ is," Dylan says, fluttering his eyelashes. "But hey, maybe if you're lucky Nuge will let you have a hall pass for the World Cup."

Connor makes a face. "First of all, he's probably going to _be_ there, and that would be super weird. And second, I wouldn't want one. Not for Eks, not for anybody else."

Dylan beams at him. "Because you're in _love_."

"Well, yeah," Connor retorts, but he's grinning and blushing, so Dylan still gives himself the point.

Dylan throws his arm around Connor's shoulders and gives him a big wet smooch on the cheek. "You're adorable. I'm gonna have to tell Nutter Butter all about how you defended his honour."

"That's such a gross cookie name," Connor says, laughing. "Like. A whole team of marketing people probably okayed it, too."

Dylan snorts. "Sometimes I think marketing people are kept in cages and fed nothing but coffee and Pop Tarts. Who knows if they're even allowed out into the real world?"

"Probably not," Connor says. "For their own safety, really."

Dylan snickers, and they spend the rest of the pregame show trying to decide which commentators should be given the Marketing treatment—hidden away for their own good. Unsurprisingly, Don Cherry leads the pack.

They settle in as the anthem starts, and from there, it's a tense, shouting-filled period. On Dylan's part, mostly, because Ryan gets called for a totally bullshit tripping penalty on Hedman three minutes in, and then doesn't manage to draw a holding call on Johnson.

There's no score by the first intermission, but Dylan's pissed anyway. "That was _bullshit_ ," he fumes. "Did you see that?"

"Bullshit," Connor agrees. "You're totally right. Please sit down and don't, like, have a stroke. Your husband would murder me."

Dylan's phone starts ringing right on cue, and he stares at Mitch's dorky contact photo for a while before answering. "Did you plant bugs in my house? Are you spying for the enemy?"

"I am the enemy," Mitch replies without missing a beat. "Nah, babe. I just saw the highlight reel from the first, so I thought I'd check in."

"Fucking dumbass officials." Dylan complains.

"They're the worst," Mitch says. "That was super for sure holding, what the fuck."

Dylan sighs. "Wish you were here to cheer me up."

"Same," Mitch says. "And I'd say we should, uh, talk each other through it, but—"

There's a rustling noise, and then Juo's voice is coming over the line. "No," he says firmly. "No phone sex on the bus. If I can wait, so can you."

Dylan snorts. "Aww, don't be like that, baby."

"If you think Alex and I don't have a plan for dealing with you two," Juo says evenly, "you are wrong. And you will find out exactly how wrong you are."

"Yeah, well, I have Davo," Dylan counters.

"Collateral damage," Juo says. "Regrettable, but unavoidable."

Dylan raises an eyebrow at Connor and puts his phone on speaker. "You realise that I'm forewarned now. You've given me twenty-four hours to prepare."

"It's on," Juo says. "You asked for this, Strome."

_What?_ Connor mouths.

"Actually, I didn't ask for it this time. You're the aggressor," Dylan points out. "But don't worry, I can finish anything you start."

"We will see," Juo says.

There's more fumbling and then Mitch comes back. "What just happened?" he asks, confused.

"I think Dylan declared war on Finland," Connor replies, just as confused.

"Finland declared war on _me_ ," Dylan says. "And also America. Or, well, Finland declared war on America's behalf. I think."

"What the fuck?" Mitch and Connor say in unison.

"Brinksy and Juo think they can take us down, but they made a fatal error: they gave up the element of surprise," Dylan explains.

"Take us down how?" Mitch asks, just as Connor says, "Why am I even part of this?"

"They have a _plan_ ," Dylan says, "for _dealing with_ us. And it all started because you brought up phone sex on the bus, so don't even try to make innocent face, Mitchell Marner." Dylan can just tell that's exactly what Mitch is doing. He flaps a hand at Connor. "And you're in on it because the baby's counting on you."

Connor makes a wounded noise. "Low blow, using your kid against me."

"What is this plan?" Mitch asks cautiously. "Like, they're obviously not gunning for us. What am I even on the lookout for?"

"Suspect everything. Trust no-one." Dylan's barely managing to keep a straight face but he _will_ win this no matter what.

"Watch out for shoe checks," Connor adds.

Dylan shoves at his shoulder. "They're not _you_. Thank god."

Connor and Mitch help Dylan come up with some revenge plots, though, because they love him best. He's in a pretty good mood by the end of intermission.

He's in an even better mood a few minutes in, when Ryan shoots an absolutely filthy pass through Palat's legs to JT, who slots it neatly over Bishop's shoulder for the first goal of the game. Ryan and JT crash together in the celly, grinning widely at each other, and Dylan can't help catcalling even though he knows they're on TV.

"Wow," Connor says, blinking at the screen. "I mean, I don't think he's actually being obvious? But, uh. Your brother totally has a crush on John Tavares, doesn't he?"

"Ryan goes where his captain leads," Dylan quotes, waggling his eyebrows. "You can ask him all about it this summer."

"What?" Connor asks, turning away from the TV.

Dylan grins. "Mom's throwing us a baby shower back home, and Tavares is totally a local boy. I'll make Ryan bring him along."

"I'm not asking your brother about his fantasy sex life!" Connor exclaims. "Especially not where your parents might hear, oh my god."

"But you're okay with asking _me_ about my brother's fantasy sex life? Hey, Connor, who's Cameron sleeping with right now?" Dylan pokes him in the side, and Connor tries to slap him away without hitting Dylan's stomach.

"Nobody you know," Connor says. "Apparently she's super nice. I have no idea why she's with Cam if that's true."

"Your brother's pretty cool," Dylan objects. "I bet _he_ wouldn't have a problem asking Ryan about his fantasy sex life." He can only hold a straight face for about two seconds, but the expression Connor makes is worth it. The best part is that he doesn't even get to reply, because the game starts back up. Connor would never be so sacrilegious as to talk during hockey church.

The third period is fast-paced; there are no penalties called, and the whistle barely blows. Both teams are giving the game everything they've got, which is great, except Palat gets a greasy tip-in halfway through and then Kucherov scores with less than three left and even pulling Greiss doesn't let the Isles tie it back up.

"Fuck." Dylan wants to punch something.

Connor wraps his arm around Dylan's shoulders. "Next game," he says confidently.

"They'd better do it in six," Dylan grumbles. "I don't think I can take it if they go to game seven."

"It's only the first round," Connor says. "There's gonna be a few game sevens, probably."

Dylan facewashes him. "Worst friend."

"Best friend," Connor coos, tilting to the side until he pitches over, dragging Dylan with him. "You love me, Stromer."

"I hate you," Dylan corrects, struggling against Connor's octopus hug.

"Shhhh," Connor says, shoving his hand in Dylan's face. "Lies. Don't lie in front of the baby, Dylan."

Dylan gives up on breaking free and pokes Connor in the ribs. "Still ticklish, Davo?"

Connor lets go in an instant. "Don't," he says as Dylan pokes him again. "I kick, Dyls, I don't want to hurt the speck."

"Lies," Dylan echoes. "Don't lie in front of the baby just because you don't want to lose."

"I let go," Connor points out. "You win."

Dylan makes menacing tickle-hands, and Connor squeaks. He cranes his neck to look at the TV, which still has the postgame on, and points. "Hey, Ryan!" When Dylan turns to look, Connor pushes him into the back of the sofa and rolls onto the floor. He takes off running upstairs, his feet thumping on every step.

Dylan stretches out on the sofa. Connor can have the head start; there are only so many places he can hide, and hey, Ryan might still get interviewed. Family is important, and Dylan wants the baby to hear his uncle's voice. Also, if they ask him about JT, Dylan wants to witness whatever face he makes. It's a win-win. He knows the Isles' chances of making a deep run aren't exactly great, but damn if it isn't entertaining.


	17. Chapter 17

Dylan makes it halfway through his breakfast the next morning before his phone rings. He's tempted to ignore it, but he catches Sylvie's name out of the corner of his eye, so he swallows and picks it up. "Hello?"

"Dylan," she says warmly, "do you have time to talk?"

Dylan eyes his breakfast warily. Pancakes aren't great cold, but he figures if he puts enough jam on them, they'll be fine. "Sure. What's up?"

Sylvie sighs. "Stupid Anglos trying to make a story out of nothing. I was asked for an official statement about your condition, and since they got nothing I assume they'll try the same with you at the next game."

"Uh," Dylan says, frowning. "I mean, I did an interview. Does that not count as a statement?"

"Exactly!" Sylvie sounds triumphant, as if she's been waiting all her life for an Anglo who understands logic. "No-comment the hell out of them, darling. The Otters can post a link to the interview on their Twitter."

"Right," Dylan says. "Should I tell them that, or are you going to?"

"I'll handle it. I just didn't want you to be caught off-guard."

"Thanks," Dylan says. "I'll let Mitch know."

"Tell him to call me if he needs anything," Sylvie replies. She's stopped directly trying to get Dylan to call her for backup, but she slips in reminders wherever she can.

"Will do," he promises. Connor's making a face at him as he hangs up the phone. "What?"

"Publicists before breakfast is over," Connor says gloomily, shuddering. "Anything bad? Do I need to create a distraction with my Next Great One media superpowers?"

"Please don't," Dylan says. "Apparently there are people asking for an official statement about me. Sylvie says I should just no-comment, and she's going to have the Otters link to the interview."

"Hey, I was just offering," Connor says gently. "I wouldn't do anything without the okay from you; the whole point of me being here is to make you _less_ stressed."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "The sentiment is appreciated, but trust me, them following you around instead of me isn't that much less stressful."

"Got it. I'll keep a low profile." Connor grins, and Dylan can't help smiling back at him.

They head to the rink after finishing up, and from there it's a typical grueling game day: light practice, some video review, home for lunch and a nap, back to the rink for the game. None of the local media guys say a word to Dylan that's not related directly to the game, which is great. It probably has something to do with the absolute ass-kicking that the Otters deliver to the Knights, but Dylan will take what he can get.

Dylan's all nerves on the drive up to London; being up 3-2 in the series is great, but he's got the feeling that London is going to fight as hard as they can in their own building, and it's tough to beat them when they're on. It helps listening to Connor, though; he calls Nuge when they make it over the border, and it's always fun to listen to Connor long-distance mother hen people.

"Babe, I _know,_ ," Connor says, rolling his eyes even though his boyfriend can't see him. "But the meds will help." He listens for a minute, his forehead creasing into a frown, then he cuts in while Nuge is almost-yelling. "I get it! But it's not cheating to take anti-inflammatories when you _have inflammation_. Pain isn't a good thing, okay? It just stops you from being able to do physical therapy."

Connor sighs, and lowers his voice so much Dylan almost misses his last comment. "You don't have to push yourself anymore. It's okay to take the time you need."

Nuge's voice is a lot quieter on the other end, and Dylan doesn't try to listen in. Connor's made his point, and Dylan's pretty sure Nuge knows it. "I love you," Connor says quietly after a few minutes. "Please take your meds, okay? I'll see you in a week." He hangs up and sighs, again. "Hockey players."

Dylan's very proud of himself; he manages five entire seconds of silence before he starts laughing. "Right, because you were so into taking everything they prescribed you when you broke your collarbone, Mr. It Doesn't Hurt That Much." When Connor opens his mouth to object, Dylan adds, "Or when you broke your hand."

"Shut up," Connor mumbles, but he's starting to lose his worried face.

"How many times did I have to bribe you to take your painkillers?" Dylan goes on. "We'll just go with this time, because thinking about your broken hand still kind of makes me want to punch you. Was it every time you had to take them? I think it was every time."

"It was not!" Connor whines. "What have I told you about lying to the baby?"

Dylan nods seriously. "You're right." He pats his stomach. "Uncle Connor didn't want to take his painkillers _or_ his anti-inflammatories. Sorry I left that part out the first time." 

Connor's face twists into a grumpy-d'aww hybrid. He can never help smiling when Dylan talks to the baby, no matter how annoyed he is. It's a pretty excellent weapon. Dylan's planning on milking it until the kid is at least three.

It's not that much longer to their hotel, and once they get there, it's all game mode all the time. Dylan sends Mitch a quick reminder warning about the media, and then he shuts his phone off and does his best to get the team in gear for the game.

He and Connor have just settled on a good pre-game speech for tomorrow when Dylan hears something in the hallway. He frowns a little, and then the noise comes again, like someone's knocking on a door. He groans as he gets up. "Betz needs to not lose his room keys," he says, heading for the door.

Connor snorts. "Keep dreaming, Stromer."

"You'd think I would have learned by now to just get an extra to his room when we checked in," Dylan says, rolling his eyes as he opens the door. He stops two steps into the hallway. "Uh."

Brinksy is balanced almost on tiptoes, his hands buried in Juo's hair. They're right against the wall next to Dylan's door, and the knocking sounds that Dylan heard were almost definitely caused by Juo's elbows banging into the wall as he holds onto Brinksy's hips.

"That can't be comfortable," Dylan observes. Brinksy has to be straining his neck.

Brinksy pulls back and turns his head so he can grin wildly at Dylan. They've definitely been at it for a while; Brinky's lips are swollen and slick-looking. "Worth it," he says, breath hitching when Juo ducks his head to do something with his mouth against the skin of Brinksy's neck.

Dylan rolls his eyes. He's waiting for the moment they realise they've wasted a perfectly good chance to fuck in an actual bed. That's pretty rare in hockey, especially when you don't play for the same team. "You gonna just stay there all night?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. "Someone will probably call security eventually."

Juo slides a hand down the back of Brinksy's pants instead of replying. Brinksy grinds his hips up, and Dylan realises that they will probably actually start undressing in the hallway if he doesn't intervene somehow. He steps into his room, grabs his water bottle, and goes back out into the hall. "Bad puppies. No litter for you."

"What even," Brinksy starts, but Dylan cuts him off by spraying them both liberally with water.

"Save some energy for the game," Dylan says in his very best captain voice.

"But it's not until tomorrow," Juo says, finally raising his head away from what Dylan can now see is going to be a very large hickey. "We have to wear ourselves out to get a good night's sleep."

Dylan squirts them with the water again, but Brinksy just grins and leans up to lick the droplets off of Juo's neck.

He gives up and goes back to his room, shutting the door firmly. The knocking starts up again pretty much immediately. "Davo," Dylan complains, pouting at Connor, "how am I supposed to sleep?"

Connor makes a face. "You brought this upon yourself," he says, long-suffering.

"Not this time," Dylan points out. "It was all Mitch and Juo."

"I think this goes back farther than that," Connor says. "Like, I don't know, World Juniors."

Dylan folds his arms. "That wasn't my fault either! I was in my own room minding Mitch's business and Juo waltzed in without asking."

"Not that I want to think too hard about this," Connor says dryly, "but from all accounts, you barely even stopped."

"Would you? If I'd walked in on you and Nuge before you had to split apart for the summer, are you seriously trying to tell me you'd stop to tell me to get the hell out?"

Connor blushes and shrugs. "I mean, I'd definitely tell you to fuck off."

"And if I didn't fuck off that would be my problem," Dylan says confidently. "Brinksy complains a lot but I've never once actually had public sex." Connor opens his mouth, possibly to object, but the knocking gets louder, and they can hear Brinksy's tone of voice if not his actual words. Dylan just raises an eyebrow.

Connor squares his shoulders, stomps over to the door, and yanks it open. "Brinks," he snaps, "cut it out. If you get arrested for public indecency with a _seventeen year old_ I'll personally kick your ass."

"Age of consent in Canada is—" Brinksy starts.

Connor cuts him off. "I will call Coach."

"Davo," Brinksy whines.

"Go to your room," Connor says firmly.

Dylan has to bury his face in a pillow so no-one hears him giggling hysterically.

"Your father is very annoying," Juo says.

"He's just nervous because my mother is knocked up," Brinksy replies.

"We should run away together," Juo says. "There are no nagging parents in your hotel room, right? And your roommate agreed to sleep somewhere else?"

There's a scuffling sound, and Connor disappears from the doorway. "That's Betzy's room," Dylan hears him say, and then Brinksy laughs.

"Not tonight," he yells, and then there's the sound of the room next door opening and the door slamming.

Connor is scowling when he comes back. "You haven't been keeping up with our boy's time outs."

"I just tell him to wait until Daddy gets home," Dylan says, leaning back on the bed. "You're the mean parent, Davo."

Connor shakes his head. "I go away for one season..."

"They lose all respect," Dylan finishes.

Connor flops on the bed dramatically, throwing his arm over his face. "If they start trying to break the headboard we should steal their phones tomorrow and change all their ring tones to Billy Ray Cyrus."

"Change all of their contact photos to Teletubbies," Dylan suggests.

Connor nods seriously. "Normal Teletubbies or creepy Internet Teletubbies?"

"Depends on how loud they get," Dylan says. "We can decide in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Connor says. He moves to dig around in his duffel, and when he comes out he tosses Dylan a package. He grins when Dylan snorts. "Leon snores," he say, clearly proud of himself. "Earplugs are awesome."

"Aww, you shouldn't have," Dylan replies, batting his eyelashes. "What will my husband say about you getting me presents all the time?"

Connor throws a dirty sock at him. "This is why Brinksy's out to get you."

"Brinksy's out to get me because he's a vindictive little shit," Dylan says fondly, opening the package. "Also, I think he forgot that I can sleep through anything. Not that I'm not going to use the earplugs anyway, but." He shrugs. The last thing he needs is for someone else's sex noises to filter into his subconscious; he's starting to have some pretty vivid dreams about baby animals, and the combination would be _bad_.

Connor sighs. "Let's get some sleep," he says. "We can get revenge on their revenge in the morning."

"That was my original plan," Dylan says as he changes into his pyjamas. "It's a good plan."

"I think I liked you better when you were half asleep all the time," Connor complains, but he makes room for Dylan anyway.

"Shhh," Dylan says, climbing in and arranging Connor to his liking. "No talking. Only sleeping."

Connor mutters something just as the thumping from the headboard in the next room starts up. Dylan puts his earplugs in and settles his head on Connor's chest, and sure enough, he falls asleep with no problem.

-0-

It's not that Dylan was expecting the Knights to hand the series over without a fight, but it's exhausting just being on the sidelines watching. It takes two overtimes before the Knights finally put them out of their misery, and it's the only goal scored all game. Dylan wants to punch something; every game they fail to clinch is another step away from being with Mitch. Not that he could handle being around Mitch right now anyway. The fucking Knights are the bane of Dylan's existence. He's sure Mitch feels the same about him right now, so he doesn't feel bad about it at all.

Connor looks murderous too. You can take the boy out of Erie, but apparently you can't take the Otter out of the boy. "We're going to do it at home," Connor says flatly once they're in the locker room. "You've got this. Win it in Erie."

"Yes, Captain," Dylan replies, only half-joking. Part of him is always going to defer to Connor.

"Not you," Connor says sternly, pointing at Dylan. He swings his finger around and points at Darren. "You. I pick you. Kill it on home ice."

Darren straightens up and nods seriously. "We've got this." He glances between Dylan and Connor, and a smirk steals over his face when he adds, "Captains."

Connor nods seriously. "Showers, then media," he says, then glances at Dylan. "Uh. Right, Dyls?"

"Right. I'll take the first questions." It's one of the few parts of Dylan's job that hasn't really had to change. The guys nod and head for the showers, and Dylan rolls his shoulders a little before he nods. "Okay. Let loose the hounds."

The gaggle of media is bigger than he expected, people he doesn't recognise elbowing aside the ones he's known for months, if not years. One of the new guys shoves his iPhone in Dylan's face. "So, Dylan. You've been out since mid-February because of your condition. How has that affected your team?"

Dylan plasters on his blandest smile. "I'm proud of what they've achieved so far." 

The new guy frowns unhappily at his non-answer. "But your pregnancy—"

"I've already made a statement," Dylan cuts in. "Anything you're curious about can be answered in the interview my husband and I did with Sportsnet."

Another new guy shoves his way forward. "So you're saying nothing's changed?"

"Not really, no," Dylan says tightly.

"How has the team responded to your prolonged absence?" the guy asks.

Dylan stares at him for a couple of seconds, then glances over to the Erie reporter who travels with them. Vic shrugs a little, and Dylan looks back to the guy who asked the question. "They made the playoffs," he says flatly. "They won the Hamilton Spectator. It's a great group of guys, and they can do anything." He shifts and looks directly at Vic. "Anyone else?"

Vic raises an eyebrow. "What have you been doing in your prolonged _absence_?" he asks, his voice dry as the desert.

Dylan latches on gratefully, talking up all the work he's been doing with Coach behind the bench and how he's kept skating and working out.

"Is that safe?" one of the new guys blurts out, when Dylan's in a middle of telling a joke about how lacing up his skates is getting a little harder.

"I'm no-contact," Dylan says as patiently as he can. "I'm pregnant. I'm not made of glass."

"But," the guy tries.

"I don't know, doc," Dylan cuts in, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Why don't you go show the trainers your medical licence?"

Someone coughs in the background, and Dylan looks up to see Coach fighting a smile.

One of the new guys makes a final attempt to get a "fresh" angle on Dylan's story. "What's it like being sidelined at such a crucial time in the season?"

"Pretty much like being sidelined at any other point," Dylan says. "I'm not playing, which sucks for me, but the guys are doing great. They always do." Just like they did fine when he was at World Juniors. Or like they did last year when Connor was out. The Otters are more than one player. If these guys are expecting Dylan to collapse in a puddle of guilt and provide them with a shiny new crying-face meme, they'll be waiting until everyone on the Otters roster is eligible for the draft.

Brinksy walks in just as one of the guys is opening his mouth again. His hair is still dripping from his shower, but he waves at the scrum as he settles into his stall. "I'll take a few questions," he says loudly, glancing at Dylan. The regulars move over to talk to him, and the new guys follow reluctantly. One of them glances longingly at Dylan over his shoulder but Connor steps in front of him, blocking his line of sight with his broad back under the excuse of offering Dylan a bottle of water.

"That was ridiculous," Dylan mutters, too quiet to be overheard. "I mean, I know Sylvie warned me, but still."

"Ask the same question a dozen different ways and maybe you'll get the answer you want," Connor replies. It looks like his murder face is here to stay.

Dylan holds his water bottle up like a microphone. "So, Connor, how's the shoulder? Do you hate Jack Eichel? How much do you looooove Edmonton?"

"Edmonton is the best," Connor says in media-robot voice. "Great group of guys, great market. I can't wait to show them what we can do... next year."

Dylan grins. "And then they take you ducking the other questions as you hating Eichs, and your shoulder on the verge of shattering."

Connor snorts. "I don't need to hate Eichel; he's a fluffy ball of hate all by himself. Seriously, who hates _fresh air_?"

"I get the snake thing," Dylan says. "I mean, he's wrong, but I get where that comes from. It's kind of hilarious that he just hates outside, though."

"Not enough shinny as a kid," Connor says wisely. "Make sure the speck gets out on the ice a lot, or he'll grow up to be Eichs."

Dylan grabs a fistful of Connor's shirt. "Promise me you'll never let that happen."

"I promise," Connor says solemnly. "I will not let your child become mini-Eichel."

They're hugging it out when Dylan's phone buzzes in his pocket.

_holy shit the media here is made out of dicks_ , Mitch says. _sorry babe_.

_it's ok, JT gave me pointers on how to be boring_ , Dylan replies.

_u couldn't be boring if u tried,_ Mitch replies, with about fifteen heart emojis.

Dylan laughs to himself as he taps out, _shh that's our secret_.

_juo rescued me i'm escaping while i can_ , Mitch says. _kiss before i leave???_

Dylan bites his lip and glances up at Connor. "Cover for me?"

"Sure," Connor says, smiling a little. "Should I send Brinksy out in a couple minutes, as payback for last night?"

"Nah, I'm feeling magnanimous. Besides," Dylan adds, "he'll be expecting it."

Connor sighs. "True. We'll think of something later." He smiles. "Go say goodnight."

Dylan sneaks a glance to make sure the slavering hordes are occupied, then he slips out the door. He heads towards London's locker room, but halfway there he hears Mitch. "Hey, in here."

Dylan goes through the training room door and finds Mitch slumped against a bench. "You okay, babe?"

Mitch is up in a heartbeat, walking over to tug Dylan into a hug. "Better now," he mumbles against Dylan's neck.

Dylan rubs Mitch's back. "They try to pull the guilt trip on you, too?"

"All they wanted to talk about was how distracted I must be," Mitch says. "I mean, they're not exactly making me less distracted by asking about it all the fucking time."

"Fuck 'em," Dylan snaps. "We made our choice and I refuse to feel bad about it."

"I don't feel bad about it," Mitch says fiercely. "Fuck them all, seriously. I love you and I love the speck."

Dylan pulls back so he can kiss him on the forehead. "We love you too."

"One more game," Mitch says. "One more game, and then you get to come with us when we go to the championship."

Dylan pokes him in the ribs. "One more game until you have to be my butler, when _we_ go to the championship."

Mitch grins. "Bet you a blowjob," he says smugly.

"No deal. You win either way," Dylan teases. He presses his thumb on Mitch's lip and yeah, just like he thought, Mitch's mouth falls open. "You can't wait to go down on me."

Mitch groans. "Don't make me walk out of here with a boner."

Dylan bends down, stopping just short of kissing Mitch. "Not long now until we have _all_ the time we want."

"Yeah," Mitch breathes, sliding his hand to the back of Dylan's neck and yanking him the rest of the way down.

It's so close to what Dylan wants, but not nearly close enough. Fuck, he wants to take Mitch back to his room and wreck him."Babe," he groans when Mitch pulls away.

"I love you enough to not make you get naked in this room," Mitch says. He ducks back in to kiss Dylan again. "No lock on the door."

"Not long now," Dylan repeats. "And I expect a lot more than a blowjob."

"Whatever you want," Mitch promises. "Anything."

Dylan kisses him again to shut him up. If Mitch keeps saying words, the media vultures are going to end up with one hell of an exclusive. He only pulls back when his phone starts buzzing. _gotta go soon. wrap it up_ , Connor says.

Before Dylan can reply, Connor sends another text. _wait too late to tell you to wrap it up HA HA HA_

_just wait until i tell nutter butter about your dad jokes_ , Dylan replies. _see who's laughing then_.

"Let me guess: you have to go," Mitch says when Dylan looks up. He's smiling, even though it's a little strained around the edges. "One more for luck?"

"Sure, I'll take a little luck off you," Dylan says, leaning back in. Mitch tries to turn his head away at the last minute but Dylan uses his height to his advantage. They're both grinning when they break apart.

"Love you," Dylan says, stepping back. "One more game."

"Love you too." Mitch clenches his hands into fists. "Get out of here before I change my mind and stow away in your car."

Dylan makes himself turn around and walk out of the room. It's way too tempting to tell Mitch to just come with him.

Connor's waiting at the car when Dylan gets there. He takes one look at Dylan's face and holds his hands out for the keys.

"I'm okay," Dylan says, but he passes them over anyway. "I swear. It's just one more game."

Connor smiles. "You should put me to work while I'm still here, then."

"I can do that," Dylan allows, climbing into the passenger's seat. "To the hotel, then, chauffeur."

Connor waits until they're on the road before saying, "Brinksy wanted to surprise you but I told him it was a bad idea. There's a Goon party in his room tonight."

Dylan smiles and looks down. He loves his team so fucking much. "Let's stop on the way back to the hotel, eh? I want to bring some snacks."

-0-

Dylan's glad that the last game of the series is at home, but he's not under any illusions: it's going to be a knock-down, drag-out fight. It helps a little that Ryan's in the same situation with the Isles, trying his hardest to haul them over the finish line and crush the Bolts. They commiserate when Ryan's supposed to be napping.

"You're gonna do it in six, though," Dylan says as Connor shuffles around in his sleep. He's totally confident. "Get them all excited to take it back home, then bam. Shut the door. It'll be awesome."

"Your guys are crazy about you," Ryan replies. "They'll get you a win no matter what it takes."

"I hope so," Dylan mutters.

"And if not, it's not your fault," Ryan adds firmly.

Dylan sighs. "That's debatable. And plenty of people are going to throw me under the bus if that happens."

"Hey, if losing one player makes or breaks a team? That's a shitty team," Ryan points out.

"You know that, I know that," Dylan says, shrugging a little. "And we both know I'm right, too. I'll get blamed."

"At least for you it won't be the truth," Ryan replies sadly.

"It's not true for you, either," Dylan says, frowning at his phone. "Coaches say shit to get you going. You know that. And hey, you've had a hell of a series."

"I know, I just... We keep barely making it. Why would JT re-sign? He's too good for us."

"You're making it now," Dylan says. "You're doing great, Ryan. Look at how well you're doing with your backup goalie."

"I'm so fucking tired, Dyls," Ryan confesses. "We all are."

"Then you should talk to Coach about conditioning. You can't give up, Ry. I won't let you, and neither will JT."

Ryan gives him half a smile. "When'd you get so smart, huh?"

Dylan shrugs. "I haven't played hockey in almost four months. Had to put the energy into _something_." He's choosing to ignore, for now, that Ryan and JT's friendly no-strings whatever is starting to look more like a ball of yarn after it's been attacked by a marauding pack of kittens. That can wait until after playoffs.

"You should've taken up scrapbooking," Ryan grumbles, but he's still smiling at least a little. "Look, we should both nap. Your boys are gonna kick ass out there tonight, and it'll look bad if you can't keep your eyes open to see it happen."

"Yes, Mom," Dylan says, rolling his eyes.

Ryan opens his mouth to retort, but his eyes cut to the side before he says anything. "Thought you were sleeping," Ryan says to someone off-camera. There's a flicker of a soft expression on his face before he wipes it off.

"And on that note," Dylan says quietly, grinning at Ryan. He raises his voice to yell a little "Kick ass tonight, JT!" Then he signs off quickly, before they can forget he's there and start making out in front of the camera. Again.

He gets a text as he's settling in for his nap, though. _You kick ass too. Just this once I won't root for the knights._

_you're so generous_ , Dylan sends back, as he curls up around Connor, who's already snoring.

_Gonna win this one here too_ , JT says, just when Dylan's convinced he's gone to sleep. _Gotta give you a good impression of your new team_.

Ugh, gross, they're sending _couple texts_ where they finish each other's motivational speeches. Dylan makes a face at his phone. _go to sleep jt you're getting sappy_.

The next message that comes through from Ryan is just a photo, of JT's offended face. _don't know what you said to him but this is hilarious_.

Dylan snorts. _GO TO SLEEP_ , he texts back. _let me and speck sleep we're tired_. It's dirty pool and he knows it, but Ryan and JT need their nap.

_YES DAD_ , Ryan replies, because he can never resist trying to get the last word. Dylan lets him have it, just this once.

The next thing he knows he's blinking awake. He smacks blindly at his alarm to silence Shake It Off. Connor thinks he's hilarious, but Dylan firmly refuses to "shake off the sleepies." Taylor sings about having nothing in her brain. Dylan can relate, but no; he's not going to let Connor win.

He lays in bed for a few seconds after he finally manages to make it stop, but manages to force himself upright a little blearily. He hopes that Ryan and JT got a better nap in than he did. Then again, neither of them is growing a human; they don't need as much sleep as he does now.

Connor, who's far too awake for Dylan's liking, pokes him in the cheek in an attempt to physically make him smile.

Dylan swats him away. "I will rise, but I refuse to shine," he grumbles.

Connor grimaces. "I'd rather not see you rise, either. Save that for Marns."

"You don't do it for me, sorry," Dylan says, reaching up to facewash him.

"I don't know if I should be offended or relieved, " Connor says, trying to grab Dylan's wrist. 

"Both," Dylan suggests. 

Connor tilts his head. "Relended? Offlieved?"

"How do you even figure out how to say that?" Dylan complains. "C'mon, we gotta get ready."

"I was born ready." Connor waggles his eyebrows, and beams like he's just given the best soundbite in the history of hockey.

"You were born naked," Dylan points out, stretching. "Go make me one last pre-game sandwich while I get dressed?"

"Aww, our last pre-game sandwich time," Connor says sadly as he heads out of the room.

Dylan's chest clenches tight. "Not the last one _ever_." That's way too scary to contemplate.

"I guess not," Connor agrees. "There's always Worlds. And the All-Star Game."

"The World Monstrosity of Hockey," Dylan adds.

"Don't forget the Olympics," Connor replies.

Dylan just rolls his eyes. "As if I'll get selected for the Olympics, like, ever. I'm not _you_."

"You're you," Connor says, like that's any sort of reassurance. "Get dressed. I'm gonna make the best pre-game sandwich you've ever had."

"I'll believe it when I eat it," Dylan replies, folding his arms so he doesn't chuck a pillow at Connor's smiling too-awake face. "Now go. Food."

Connor sweeps a deep bow before leaving the room.

Dylan flops back on the bed and checks his phone. He can spare five more minutes before he _really_ needs to get up; it's not like he has to dress in full hockey gear when they get to the rink. He's got a text full of kissing emoji from Mitch, but other than that there's nothing new. Dylan sends back an eggplant emoji and waits a minute to see if Mitch got it.

_tonight,_ he gets back almost instantly.

Dylan sends four thumbs up and a party hat, then puts his phone on silent and rolls out of bed. Mitch can interpret that any way he wants.

He's got a game to get dressed for and a sandwich to devour, and then he's got a rousing pep speech to deliver to his boys.

-0-

The locker room is basically chaos when Dylan and Connor arrive. There's definitely an air of tension, and everyone's extra-loud because of it. Dylan hangs back, letting them blow off steam with chirping and sock fights. If ever the guys needed to be focused, it's tonight. 

Warmups go fine, and before Dylan knows it, the guys are sitting in their stalls and looking to him for whatever pearls of wisdom he has to impart. Dylan squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. "Every single one of you has earned your place here. I'm proud of what we've built, and I know tonight is just the beginning."

"Hell yeah," Betz yells, and Dylan shoots him a quick grin.

"Play smart," he goes on. "Don't take dumb penalties. Work on the puck. For the love of god, backcheck." He pauses for a minute to make sure he's got their attention. "Do not let them draw you in where you don't want to be, but push them hard. Make them regret they ever strapped on skates."

The guys are nodding along, and there's a dangerous smile on Brinksy's face, the kind that means he's already game-sharp and ready to go. Dylan's glad to see it; it means he won't need time to get into the game, and the Knights won't be able to needle him into anything stupid right away.

"They forced us to seven," Dylan says, looking slowly around the room and doing his best to meet everyone's eyes. "That's all they get. They're done after tonight, because we're going on."

He puts steel in his voice, and they can all hear it. Taylor straightens up to his full height in a way he rarely does with his big brother around; Darren tightens his jaw, more determined than Dylan's ever seen him.

"So get out there and do it," he says, raising his voice. "This is our rink. This is our game. This is our time." He pauses, just for a second. "Go Otters!"

The whole team yells it back, Connor probably the loudest of all behind him. Dylan grins, and holds his hand out to fist bump every single one of them as they file out of the room.

"Good speech," Connor says as Williams makes his way out. It's always at least a little hilarious to watch a goalie walk in full gear while he's off the ice, but Dylan manages to not even crack a smile. "You're a great captain, Dyls. I'm super proud, for whatever that's worth."

"Thanks," Dylan replies, his voice a little wobbly.

Connor smiles and steps in, catching Dylan in a hug. "Let's go watch them kill it," he whispers.

Dylan keeps his head down as he makes his way to the bench with Connor. He's acutely aware that this could be his last game as an Otter. He believes in his team, he really does, but the Knights are the Knights. He can't help but believe in anything Mitch is part of. Dylan takes a moment to pack those feelings up and put them away, so he can get his game face on. He might not be on the ice but the team still needs him.

"We've got this," he says as he steps up to Coach behind the bench. "We've totally got this."

"Damn right," Coach replies, staring out at the ice.

Dylan nods once, short and sharp. He very purposely doesn't look for Mitch on the other bench; it'll fuck with both of them right now, and Dylan needs his head on straight. Also, he wants to be able to say he beat Mitch fair and square, and he knows if Mitch is off his game he'll never really believe it.

Connor wraps an arm around Dylan's shoulders and pulls him into a sideways hug. "Fuck, I think this feels worse than last year. At least then I could hit the ice and help."

Dylan grimaces. "Hopefully it's nothing like last year." He still feels bad about not winning it for Connor's last year as captain.

"Change the ending," Connor says, squeezing him a little before letting go. "That's the slogan, right? They'll do it."

Dylan nods. "Every good sports movie needs a last-minute comeback."

Connor snorts a little. "I hate to break it to you, but you need to be the underdog to have a comeback. You guys have been dominant all season long. This is more like..." He pauses, clearly trying to think of a good comparison. "This is that football team that won every single game that one year. On top of everything, refusing to lose."

"Okay, so I'm greedy. I want all the wins." Dylan shrugs. "What else do you expect from the overlooked middle child?"

"Okay, Mr. Third Overall," Connor says dryly. "Clearly nobody pays attention, woe is you." He bumps their shoulders together. "Gonna get the rest of the wins in this series."

"All one of them?"

"But it's the most important one," Connor says.

Dylan pokes him in the ribs. Connor tries to slap him away, but right on cue the anthem kicks in and Connor freezes. Just like that, it's game time. Williams heads to his crease and perches, and just before the puck drops, Brinksy looks up at Dylan and flashes him that grin.

The Knights win the draw, but apparently Dylan's pre-game speech got through to the guys; as soon as they bring it into the Otters' zone, Taylor's on Jones, backchecking his heart out.

"We should change his ringtone to Nicki Minaj," Connor yells in Dylan's ears.

"We should definitely not," Dylan yells back. "I'm already on Brinksy's shit list. One teammate at a time."

Connor just beams. "I'm playing Anaconda at intermission."

Dylan rolls his eyes and shifts his attention back to the game just in time for a line change.

"You do you," Dylan says, leaning over to watch as two Otters and two Knights battle in the corner for the puck. "What the hell, why isn't the ref blowing the—"

The whistle blows, and Dylan settles back on his feet. "Finally," he mutters, watching as the guys line up for the faceoff. Pettit wins it, but he has to fight hard to keep it. He manages a neat pass to Betz, but just as he gets it, a Knight trips him and sends him to the ice.

"What the hell," Dylan bellows, but the ref is already blowing his whistle, and Dylan can't help but smile in satisfaction as Pu skates to the box. "Okay, boys, it's on now," he says, mostly to himself.

Apparently his message gets through anyway; the Knights' PK is excellent, but Brinksy and Taylor manage to get a 2-on-1 with fifteen seconds left in the power play, and they do a sweet little back-and-forth passing move in front of the net before Taylor slams it up over Parsons' left shoulder. Brinksy crashes into him on the celly, coming perilously close to mashing his face into Taylor's armpit.

"Yes," Connor hisses, reaching out to tap Dylan's arm. "That was fucking gorgeous!"

Dylan taps him back. "It's the lucky suit. I'd wear it for the next round but the pants don't fit me anymore."

Connor gives him a sidelong look. "I'm pretty sure we could make it work," he says as Taylor and Brinksy skate by for their fistbumps. "I read a thing about using rubber bands to make pants with buttons work better."

Dylan snorts. "Yeah, that works for a while, but look at me now."

"A really big rubber band," Connor counters. "And you won't have to tuck your shirt in."

Dylan opens his mouth to reply but Mitch starts racing up the ice, and he just _knows_ the Knights are about to make something happen. All Dylan can do it stare with a little bit of awe and a lot of resignation as Mitch speeds around the back of the net and manages to get into position to lift the puck over Williams' glove.

He turns away during the celly so he won't catch Mitch's eye and tries to focus on what just happened—where they went wrong. Having to defend against Mitch fucking Marner is at the top of the list. "Okay, boys," he yells as Marchy's line goes over to take the next face-off. "Keep it going! Don't give them any more chances!"

The Otters lock down tight, and despite the Knights' best efforts they end the first period without another goal. Dylan takes a deep breath after the buzzer. He'd known going in that this game was going to be tight, so he focuses on what he wants to tell the guys in the locker room as he follows them down the tunnel.

It's quick and on point; they had a solid period. Dylan reiterates what he said about backchecking and emphasizes how important it is when the Knights have their top line on the ice, and the guys all nod. Dylan has just enough time to grab a handful of pretzels and a bottle of water before they have to head back out.

The second period is a scrap fest, both sides wrestling for the puck and the refs not even bothering to keep up. They let all kinds of crap go on both sides. Of course, the penalty they finally decide to call is complete bullshit, and Marchy ends up in the box for a holding call that has no basis in the game actually being played. Dvorak scores on the power play off a beautiful assist from Mitch, of course, and Dylan wants to tear his hair out.

"Give it right back," he says, leaning over to speak directly into Lodnia's ear. "Get it, Lods."

Marchy comes out of the box looking for payback. Sambrook gets him the puck, and Marchy dekes for a filthy pass to Lods who does, in fact, get it. The puck squeaks through glove-side to give them the tie goal.

"That's what I'm talking about," Dylan yells, clapping as Lodnia points over at Dylan with a grin right as Sambrook slams him into the glass. "Keep going, keep pushing!"

The minutes tick down. Dylan's on the verge of actual, literal nail-biting when he notices Darren sneaking up from the blue line. He glances up at the clock; it's going to be close. "Fucking skate," he yells, which is probably the least useful advice he's ever given, but Darren glides down the ice just in time to get into position. It goes five hole on Parsons, and Fergus and Taylor crash Darren into the boards, yelling and laughing. The buzzer sounds and the whole team gets to their feet, cheering like it's the end of the third.

All Dylan can think to say in the locker room is "keep going," which is right up there with "fucking skate" in terms of being useful. Thankfully, Coach has some actual advice, so Dylan doesn't have to make that try to sound profound. God, he'd give almost anything to be out there with them tonight, ending his OHL career in style. His stomach feels weird; probably just butterflies, but everything he's read says he might feel the baby move soon. It'd be too perfect if he made his movement debut at a hockey game.

The guys all look determined as they head back out, and Dylan's about to fall in line and follow them when Williams stops in front of them. "What's up?" Dylan asks.

Williams pushes his goalie mask up and looks at Dylan very seriously. "I'm a wall, Cap," he says solemnly. Before Dylan can reply, he slides his mask back down and clomps out.

" _Goalies_ ," Connor says, and Dylan grins and shrugs, because, well. Goalies.

It's the last moment of levity they get. The third period is a grind, both sides at loggerheads. The Knights are desperately trying to make something happen, the Otters are trying just as hard to stop them, and Brinksy skates his ass off trying to get an insurance goal. It's a clean period, too, which is honestly more than Dylan had dared to hope for; he wouldn't mind if one of the Otters drew a penalty, but they keep themselves out of the box, so Dylan will deal with it.

"Come on," he mutters, jamming his hands into his pockets so no-one can see them shake.

It's incredibly intense to watch; the Otters are trying for an insurance goal, yeah, but more than that they seem to be trying to just keep the puck away from the Knights. It's working, too, and the third remains scoreless as the clock ticks down. Connor reaches out, fumbling to grab hold of Dylan without looking away from the ice. Dylan moves closer so their shoulders are pressing together.

"I'm going to throw up," Dylan mutters when Parsons races to the bench for the extra skater with less than two minutes left on the clock. "Holy shit, this is crazy."

Connor squeezes Dylan's hand. "Do you actually need to throw up, or—"

"No," Dylan croaks out. "Maybe. Probably not."

"We've got this," Connor replies.

Dylan has to smile at that. "Otters for life, right?"

"Otters for life," Connor says confidently. There's under a minute left in the game, and the guys on the ice are making increasingly risky moves to keep the puck from getting anywhere near Williams.

The Knights' empty net is so, so tempting. "Don't do it," Dylan mutters. "Don't get distracted. Keep up your defence."

The clock hits ten seconds just as Darren intercepts a pass behind the Otters' net. Dylan watches in slow-motion as Darren looks down the ice at the empty net, but then he closes off his stance, pushes the puck along the boards, and keeps his back to the Knight trying to muscle him off of it.

"You fucking beauty!" Dylan yells as time ticks down. Five, four... The roar of the crowd fills his ears.

Jones lunges, finally managing to shove Darren away, but there's less than two seconds. Taylor reaches in and bats the puck as hard as he can towards the empty net, and time runs out just as it crosses the blue line. It's not going to count, there's no way, but Dylan doesn't fucking care. He launches himself into Connor, almost knocking him down.

"Holy shit, holy shit," someone on the bench screams, and then everyone's piling over the boards to mob Williams.

Dylan hides his face in Connor's shoulder. Nobody's going to notice the tears and the snot amongst all the ugly patterning.

"Hey, Cap, c'mon," Connor says after a minute. He nudges Dylan gently in the side. "Handshakes."

"In a minute." Dylan's voice is shaking and his knees feel weak. He's a fucking mess. "Fuck, Connor, we did it."

"Yeah," Connor says, pulling Dylan in and rubbing at his shoulder. "You did, Dyls."

The crowd roars in waves, and Dylan's stomach rolls along with it. "Settle down, kid," Dylan murmurs. "Wouldn't want to worry your dad."

"Speaking of," Connor says quietly, nudging Dylan again. Dylan looks up and finds Mitch standing just on the other side of the wall. He looks—well, he looks like he just lost game seven, but he's got a tired little smile on his face.

Dylan steps forward and leans over, and Mitch's arms come up around him. They just clutch at each other for a minute before Mitch mutters, "I love you so fucking much, but I hate your team."

Dylan laughs. "That's okay, I hate your team too."

"All is right in the world," Mitch murmurs as he pulls back. He smiles up at Dylan. "Don't worry about the handshake line. I'm the Knights' representative, captain to captain."

Dylan raises an eyebrow, and holds out his hand. It's tradition, after all. Mitch laughs in his face, but he shakes Dylan's hand. Then, grin still firmly in place, he brings Dylan's hand up to his mouth and brushes a kiss across his knuckles.

"Uh, remind me to tell you guys about the birds and the bees," Connor says.

Dylan pats his belly with his free hand. "Already failed that talk, Davo, but thanks."

"That's why I figured you two are past the handshake stage," Connor teases. "And yet."

Mitch raises an eyebrow at Connor without letting go of Dylan's hand. "Be careful what you ask about," he says. "You can never un-know. Just ask Juo."

Connor grimaces. "I'm never talking to Juo. Ever. Not after the things I heard last night."

Mitch looks confused, and Dylan bursts out laughing. "Tell you later," he promises. Well, more like threatens, but Mitch smiles at him anyway.

"I'm gonna go shake hands," Mitch says. "And change, and give a speech. Wait for me?"

"Only if you shower," Dylan teases.

"For you, anything," Mitch says, still smiling as he skates away.

Connor pokes Dylan in the shoulder. "You kinda need a shower too, if you're hoping to get some tonight. You reek like fear-sweat."

"It's all yours," Dylan says. "I wasn't worried at all."

Connor shakes his head, _I'm not mad I'm just disappointed_ written all over his face. "I'm running away to Brinksy's. You can't stop me."

Dylan makes a little shooing motion with his hands. "Why would I stop you?"

Connor pokes out his tongue, seemingly unaware that the cameras aren't watching the ice anymore.

"That one's going up on YouTube," Dylan says, laughing. "Bet they post it with a link to you swearing last year. Connor McDavid: role model."

"That's me," Connor says, striking a pose, and Dylan laughs all the way back into the locker room.


	18. Chapter 18

Mitch ends up having to wait for Dylan; most of the guys want to tell him individually that they're going to win it all for him. "Even if you can't put the speck in it," Egan says sadly.

"We'll put an ultrasound photo in there," Dylan promises, and Egan perks up instantly. "Got an appointment to get a new one before you win me that hardware. That can be the grand unveiling."

When he finally makes it out of the locker room Mitch is waiting, slumped against the wall looking grey-faced. "Babe," Dylan says, reaching out for him before the locker room door even shuts behind him.

Mitch melts into the hug, pressing his face into Dylan's shoulder. "Now I know how Davo felt last year."

Dylan hugs him more tightly, pressing his face into Mitch's hair. He won't apologise; he wouldn't mean it, and Mitch would know he was lying anyway. "Love you," he says instead.

"I know," Mitch replies, clinging to Dylan as people file past them.

"Wanna get out of here?" Dylan asks quietly. "Davo's crashing at Brinksy's."

Mitch nods his head, his nose bumping against Dylan's collarbone. "Yes please."

"Okay," Dylan murmurs. He lets his hands trail down Mitch's back until they're resting on his hips. "C'mon, let's go home."

Mitch pulls back and looks up at him. "Love you."

"Always," Dylan promises. He takes Mitch's hand and pulls him towards the parking lot, and Mitch doesn't resist at all.

He curls up in the passenger seat of Dylan's car, and he's so quiet on the drive home Dylan isn't sure he's awake. He wants to glance over and check, but he knows that he'd want at least a little bit of privacy if he were in Mitch's shoes right now, so he keeps his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road.

"Want to pick up something to eat?" Dylan asks eventually, when they're at a stoplight.

Mitch laughs a little. It's not a great laugh, but it's something. "Burgers. And fries."

They stop at Five Guys, and Dylan leaves Mitch in the car while he goes to get takeout. He gets a container of the nasty nacho cheese that Mitch likes; it smells foul, but Dylan will deal with it. And also make Mitch sit by the window.

Mitch makes actual heart-eyes at the nacho cheese. "Not in the car," Dylan says sternly. He's pretty sure he can keep a lid on the puking, but he doesn't want to risk it while he's driving.

" _Fine_ ," Mitch reluctantly agrees, cuddling the takeout bag to his chest.

"We're, like, three minutes from my house," Dylan points out. "You can make it."

Mitch's knee bounces all the way through the rest of the drive. He doesn't go for the cheese container again, though, so Dylan will take it.

The Murphys are waiting in the living room when Dylan and Mitch walk in. "You played an amazing series," Mrs. Murphy says, and Dylan blinks until he realises she's folding Mitch into a hug. "We're proud of you, sweetie."

"Thanks," Mitch mumbles, still clutching the food like a lifeline.

Mrs. Murphy lets go, and then Mr. Murphy swoops in. Dylan's pretty sure the food is a lost cause at this point, but Mitch looks a little better for the hugs.

"Come on," Dylan says, smiling at him. "Time for gross nacho cheese."

Mr. Murphy whistles as he lets go of Mitch. "He lifted the cheese embargo for you? Must really be love."

"Must be," Dylan echoes, grinning.

"Bet he still doesn't let me eat it upstairs," Mitch says to Mrs. Murphy.

"I would do anything for love," Dylan sings, walking towards the dining room. "But no way are you opening that cheese in my bedroom." He sits at the dining table with his burger and makes Mitch stand at the counter. It works; the burger smells strongly enough that he doesn't even smell a hint of the cheese. It's still gross to watch Mitch dip first his fries and then his fingers into the little plastic cup but, well, he's had a rough night.

After he finishes, Mitch raises an eyebrow at Dylan's disgusted face. "I'll go wash up."

"Brush your teeth twice," Dylan calls after him. "And use mouthwash."

"Maybe I should have another shower, just in case," Mitch teases.

"It's not the worst idea you've ever had," Dylan agrees.

Mitch snorts. "Netflix and chill when I'm done?"

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "At your service, babe." It's a good idea; Mitch can avoid thinking for a while, and Dylan will have background noise if he gets, ah, carried away. He heads up to his room while Mitch is in the shower; he's suddenly very done with pants.

Mitch is wearing sweats and a clean t-shirt when he comes in. He looks soft and fuzzy around the edges, and Dylan can't wait to get his hands on him. He climbs into bed next to Dylan and curls into his side. "What are we watching?"

"I haven't caught up with Game of Thrones yet," Dylan says. "But I wasn't sure if you'd be up for it. We can just watch Planet Earth or something, if you want."

"Planet Earth," Mitch demands, pretty much exactly like Dylan thought he would. "Put on the one with the bears and the fish. That's my favourite."

Dylan grins and wraps his arm around Mitch. "I had no idea," he replies dryly. "You've only made me watch it, like, six times."

"They swim upstream, that shit is amazing," Mitch says, reaching for Dylan's laptop. "And then when they get there, bam. Bears."

Dylan pats his stomach with his free hand. "You're a strong swimmer too."

"Thanks for not having bears up there," Mitch replies. "Or... something. That sounded better in my head."

Dylan cracks up laughing. "Who knows? It could be bears. We'll find out at the next appointment."

Mitch sets the laptop back on the bedstand and leans into Dylan again. "Don't be bears," he says sternly to Dylan's belly. "Don't even be one bear."

"You can hibernate sometimes, though," Dylan says.

"Yes," Mitch agrees. "That would be great, actually." He turns to face Dylan as the narrator starts talking about the ecosystem. "So, we've got Netflix. That's half of the equation."

Dylan leans down and kisses him.

"Better," Mitch murmurs against his lips when Dylan pulls back a little. "I think you missed a spot, though."

"Can't have that," Dylan says, leaning back in.

-0-

Dylan has to drive Mitch back to his hotel way before either one of them wants to get up in the morning; the Knights have locker cleanout, and then Mitch has to move the rest of his stuff back home. Dylan kisses him goodbye in the parking lot, drives back to his place, and has a very nutritious breakfast of toast and yogurt before he goes to sleep for another two hours. He wakes up when Connor comes back from Brinksy's, with a look on his face like he has _seen some shit_.

"In case you were still not sure somehow," he says, voice eerily calm, "I can confirm for you that Brinksy is definitely sleeping with Juo. And his walls are too thin for that, oh my god."

Dylan grimaces. "Sorry, Davo. Might've been worse if you were here, though."

"At least here I could've crashed in the basement," Connor says darkly. "Distract me. We have three days until Mitch gets back. Let's look up, like, cribs and car seats and stuff."

Dylan snorts. "The baby's not even halfway done cooking yet. And Mitch's family doesn't have room for stuff."

"Window shopping," Connor persists. "Come on, Stromer. We don't have to order anything, but if I don't see something cute and baby-ish in the next few minutes, I'm sharing everything I heard last night."

Dylan relents; they grab some food and then spend a while on a couple of websites, reading customer reviews and looking things up on Consumer Reports. The endless, vicious arguments over whether or not crib sheets are safe and whether a white noise machine will turn your baby into a three-eyed monster start giving Dylan a headache after a while.

"Break time," he says, pushing his laptop away. Connor hums at him, reading something with way too much intensity on his face. "Uh, Davo?"

Connor flaps a hand at him. "Nap," he says. "I'm reading this. And the other thing, I want to read the other thing too."

Dylan scowls and kicks off his pants. "How am I supposed to nap without my body pillow?

Connor huffs a ridiculous sigh and scoots up the bed, laying down and putting his laptop next to him on the mattress. Dylan flops into the optimal position and rearranges them both, and then watches as Connor makes a fort with the rest of the pillows so his laptop is more or less visible.

"Don't buy anything," Dylan reminds him. "Make a Pinterest board if you must."

"I must," Connor says solemnly. He reaches over to pat Dylan's hip. "Sleep. I'll wake you up when it's time for dinner."

Dylan hums happily. "Mmm, food."

"The sooner you sleep, the sooner you can eat," Connor says, already reading whatever's on his laptop again. It's a valid point, so Dylan closes his eyes, and he's asleep in minutes.

He wakes up to Connor poking him in the arm. He's grinning down at Dylan, which is when Dylan notices that Connor had somehow managed to sit up while Dylan was sleeping, and that Dylan's now got his arms firmly wrapped around Connor's waist.

"Um. Hi?" Dylan yawns but he doesn't move. He's _comfortable_.

"Get up here, it's selfie time," Connor says, tugging lightly at Dylan's shoulder. "Your husband wants proof of life, c'mere."

Dylan reluctantly lets go of Connor and struggles to sit up. Connor lets him flounder for a few seconds before tugging Dylan in against his side. "You're not awake enough to move on your own," he says, grinning down at Dylan as he holds his phone up. "Smile!"

Dylan tips his head into Connor's shoulder and does his sleepy best to approximate a smile. Keeping his eyes open is a superhuman effort.

"Good job," Connor says, grinning as he sends the photo to Mitch. "Think you can wake up enough to go down for dinner?"

"Ugh," Dylan replies, flopping back down on the bed.

"We don't... have to?" Connor says with a frown. Clearly he wasn't prepared for tired to win over hungry.

Dylan flaps a hand at him. "I need to brush my teeth. And put on real pants." He sniffs, and then wrinkles his nose. "Maybe grab a shower too."

"Yes," Connor says immediately, then rolls out of the way when Dylan smacks at him.

"I'm going to call Ryan," Connor continues, "so take your time."

"Call," Dylan repeats, frowning. "Oh, Nuge. Got it." He stretches and gets up. "That's weird, man. You couldn't have dated, like, Draisaitl? I don't know any other Leons."

Connor shakes his head, grinning. "The heart wants what the heart wants." He pokes Dylan's rounding stomach to help make his point.

"Gross," Dylan says cheerily. "No jerking off in my bed." He grabs his clothes and heads to take a shower to the sounds of Connor spluttering.

He showers quickly; the more he wakes up, the hungrier he is. He gets dressed in the bathroom and heads back to his room, pausing outside the door as he overhears the end of Connor's conversation.

"—love you," Connor says softly. "I'm glad that PT is going well. And I'm gonna FaceTime you every day from Russia." He pauses, then laughs softly. "Yes, every day. You'd better answer, because I'm not above calling your brother and telling him about—" He stops again to laugh. "Yeah, no. Okay. Love you."

Dylan hears him sigh a moment later, and when he peeks in, Connor's smiling at nothing, his phone next to him on the bed.

"Hey," Dylan says softly. "Need a hug?"

Connor looks up and opens his arms, and Dylan hurries over. Connor hides his face in Dylan's shoulder. "I haven't even left for Worlds yet and I already miss him."

Dylan just holds him more tightly; he knows this dance really well.

"I thought we'd be over there together," Connor says miserably.

"You have FaceTime," Dylan says. "And Skype, and phone sex." It makes Connor laugh a little, and Dylan grins. "Long-distance sucks, not gonna lie, but you'll make it."

Connor takes a deep breath. "We have the summer. And I guess after that we'll know if Ryan is staying in Edmonton or not."

"Yeah," Dylan says. "I mean, I know it's stupid to tell you not to worry about it, but try not to?"

"I'll try," Connor says. "No promises."

"Good." Dylan smacks a kiss to his cheek. "Food, then watching my brother kick Tampa Bay's ass?"

Connor squeezes him one last time and then lets go. "Lead the way, captain."

Dinner is great, but game six is better; it goes to overtime, and then second overtime, and just when Dylan thinks his kid might be born before the game ends, JT nabs his own rebound off the post and skates it around the back of the net to tuck in what might be the prettiest goal Dylan has ever witnessed.

"Fuck yes, that was sick!" Dylan blurts out, punching the air. He manages to send a tweet congratulating Ryan and the team before Connor tackles him.

"Holy shit," Connor yells, right in Dylan's face. Dylan can't do anything but agree.

Dylan's phone buzzes, and when he manages to get a hand free to check it Mitch's face smiles up at him from the contact photo. _yr brothers tapping that_.

_ew thanks for reminding me_ , Dylan replies.

Mitch sends him six kissy-face emoji in response.

"What the fuck?" Connor says, and when Dylan looks over he finds Connor staring down at his own phone in horror. "Mitch just said 'don't have dirty thoughts about Dylan's brother-in-law,'" Connor reads out. "What the actual fuck?"

Dylan cracks up. "Uh," he manages. "So. Ryan might be sleeping with JT?"

"Might be? It sounds like Mitch is already planning their wedding," Connor points out.

"I mean, I can give you details," Dylan starts, but loses it laughing again at the look on Connor's face.

"It's _John Tavares_ ," Connor says, in the exact same tone most of the people Dylan's met recently say _Connor McDavid_. If Bettman really did have the NHL draft rigged, the Isles somehow would've won and Connor and JT would be making sweet, sweet hockey together.

"Does that mean you do want to hear, or you don't?" Dylan asks. "I can't really tell, man. Help me out here."

Connor flops back on the sofa, frowning like they just lost the Cup all over again. "If I don't get at least some details, my Ryan will never forgive me."

"I don't actually know anything scarring," Dylan admits. "It's pretty new? And I have no idea how serious they are."

Connor breathes a sigh of relief.

"I'll snap you a picture if I ever walk in on them doing anything, though," Dylan adds, and starts laughing again at the look on Connor's face.

"Ugh, no," he says. "Send it to Nutter Butter. It might be the perfect thing to take your weirdo relationship to the next level."

"I'll consider it," Dylan says, still grinning.

"Tell me something embarrassing about them," Connor demands. "Otherwise I could end up having dreams. About your _brother_. While you're right there."

"Well," Dylan begins. "JT was there the morning Ryan gave me that giant stuffed otter..."

-0-

Mitch makes it back to Erie the day Connor has to leave for Worlds. They have enough time to go out for lunch first, though, which Dylan's grateful for; he's pretty sure that between him and Mitch, they can figure out what Connor's been hiding. Connor's terrible with secrets. When he's holding something back it shows plainly all over his face; anyone who watched when Edmonton won the draft lottery knows that. But he's also stubborn, so if he doesn't want to talk it's a pain in the ass to try to make him change his mind.

As it turns out, though, Dylan doesn't have to pry it out of him at all. As soon as they order their food, Connor looks across the table at them. "So after Worlds, I'm buying a house in Toronto."

Mitch just stares, eyes wide like a Pokemon.

"Congratulations," Dylan says. There's more here, and since Connor's in a talking mood, it shouldn't take him long.

"Ryan's coming with me to help pick a place," Connor continues. "I'd like you guys there too."

"You want us to be there too," Mitch repeats. "To pick a place you're going to live in with your boyfriend?"

Connor ducks his head, grinning at the B word. "Actually, I was thinking... I mean, you can't stay with your parents forever, right? Babies need space."

Dylan's not nearly as surprised as he thinks he maybe should be. He'd sort of pieced it together, from what Connor had said when he'd mentioned it the first time.

Mitch, however, didn't have that little bit of foreshadowing. "Are you," he starts. He shakes his head a little, glances at Dylan, and then looks back at Connor. "Okay, once more, from the top."

"I'm buying a house this summer," Connor repeats. "And I want it to be big enough for all five of us."

Mitch's mouth drops open a little, and Dylan figures that's his cue to jump in. "Davo. Connor, that's... I mean. That's a lot."

"I want the speck to have a home, not just a room," Connor says softly.

"So do we," Dylan says, reaching out and grabbing Mitch's hand. "But, like. You can't just buy a house because we're having a baby."

"It's an investment," Connor argues. "And Mitch, you're going to need a place next season anyway."

"I could live with a teammate," Mitch says.

Connor shakes his head. "Not if you want to live with Dylan and the baby, you can't." His face softens a little. "Look, I'm not saying you guys should just, like, move into my house. I want us all to look together, and I'll make all the initial payments, right? And we can work out rent and stuff."

That... changes things. Dylan sits back in his seat and squeezes Mitch's hand. "Can we think about it while you're gone?"

"Of course," Connor says, nodding quickly. "That's, uh. That's why I wanted to tell you now, really. So you could think about it, and you'd be together for it, and you could just... talk it out." He gives them a hopeful smile.

Dylan gently kicks at Connor's ankle. "You're kinda crazy, you know that?"

"You know, now that you mention it, I'm pretty sure I've heard you say that a time or two," Connor says thoughtfully. "Or, like, twenty times. And Brinksy's mentioned it. And Coach. And—"

"Food!" Mitch cuts in. The more attention he gets from the press, the more careful he tries to be about being out in public where anyone can hear and see them. It's probably good practice for playing in Toronto, but Dylan feels a little sad for him. They're still in Erie, so it's not like there are reporters lurking in every corner, but Dylan lets him get away with it.

"We'll talk about it," Dylan promises when their waitress has delivered everything and left them in peace.

"Okay," Connor says easily, and digs into his lunch.

Apparently that really is good enough for now; Mitch turns the conversation towards Worlds and gives Connor a stern talking-to about the signs of a low blood sugar, just in case something happens with Domi.

"Just carry fruit snacks," Mitch says as he pushes half of his fries onto Dylan's plate. "And, like. If he acts weird—"

"—tell him to check his sugar," Connor says. "Got it."

"Who do you think you'll end up on a line with?" Dylan asks, because he's still a hockey player.

Connor shakes his head a little, grinning. "Have you seen who's on that team?" he asks, clearly a little in awe. "I mean. Maybe Hallsy, since we're both Oilers? But whoever it is, it's gonna be amazing."

"Bring home gold," Mitch advises. "That'll be amazing."

Lunch is good, but all too soon they have to leave to take Connor to the airport. He hugs them both tightly when they pull over to unload his bags, and Connor reminds them to think about his whole house proposal. "You have a few weeks," he reminds them. "I mean, win the Mem Cup. But also think about it."

"Yes, Dad," Dylan teases, pulling him in for one last hug.

"Kick ass," Mitch adds when Connor finally grabs his bag and heads for the door. "Don't lose to Belarus!"

"Can we revoke his citizenship if he loses to Belarus?" Dylan wonders.

"We can look into it," Mitch says. "C'mon, let's head home. We've got stuff to think about." They get back in the car, and Mitch blurts out, "Holy shit."

Dylan laughs a little. "He's insane, right?" Mitch nods vehemently, and Dylan laughs again. "But, I mean..."

"I love my family," Mitch says, "but if we bring the baby home to my parents' place I'm a little worried I might never get to hold her."

"Your brother will run away with him," Dylan agrees. "And Connor said we'd pay rent, so it's not like we'd be taking advantage or whatever."

Mitch bites his lip. "It's not the craziest idea in the world, is it?"

"It's not," Dylan agrees. "It's still crazy, but I think it's the kind of crazy that works out."

"Lists," Mitch says firmly. "We need lists. Pros and cons."

"We can do lists," Dylan says, nodding. "Lists are good. And we can call Nuge, too, probably." There's no way Connor would propose this whole idea to them without talking to Nuge first.

"And we're going to need ice cream," Mitch adds hopefully.

Dylan snorts. "Well, yeah. That's a given." Mitch isn't on a hockey diet anymore, and Dylan needs extra calcium. It's science.

"I'm putting that on the pro side of the list," Mitch says, grinning. "Ice cream."

"It's a start," Dylan says, grinning back at him. "Let's see what else we can come up with."

-0-

Dylan's appointment with Dr. Weber is pretty uneventful; it's mostly a "yeah, everything still looks fine" thing. The only remarkable thing about it is the new ultrasound photo, which Mitch has Dr. Weber email to him so they can go to Walgreens and get a truly ridiculous number of copies printed up.

"This is so old school," Mitch complains, but Dylan can see his smile trying to break free.

"Your parents can't frame a GIF," Dylan replies. "Also, I'm not putting a thumb drive in the Mem Cup."

And _there's_ the killer smile. Dylan's helpless to do anything but smile back. This is his life, somehow: standing in front of a clunky-sounding photo printing machine in a Walgreens, smiling like an idiot at a guy who's smiling just as hard back at him.

The machine finally wheezes to a stop, and Mitch looks down. "I still don't see why we needed so many of them."

"You've met my team," Dylan says, scooping them out of the printing tray. "Pretty much everyone wants one. And then there's your team, and our families, and us, and some extras."

"Meaning Connor, Connor and Connor," Mitch translates. "What does he do with them, wallpaper his room?"

"I've decided it's for the best if I don't know, actually," Dylan replies. "Maybe that should go on the con side of the list for the house: Davo potentially wallpapering every available surface with ultrasound photos."

"Could be cute," Mitch muses.

Dylan snorts and pulls one of the photos from the package. "Babe, I love you, and he's gonna be the cutest fucking baby in the world," he says, holding the photo up. "But right now? Not so much."

Mitch stares at the photo with an impossibly soft look on his face. "I think she has your nose."

"I hope he has your optimism," Dylan says before he can stop himself.

Mitch blushes. "I can't help being biased. She's the cutest."

"You're such a sap," Dylan grumbles, but he's grinning as he leans over to kiss Mitch's cheek. "C'mon, let's pay and get out of here."

Mitch takes his hand, and he swings their arms back and forth as they head to the checkout. Dylan suspects he'd be skipping if he could.

They have a lot of prep still to do for the series against Windsor; it's not going to be easy, even if Dylan privately thinks that it's not going to be as bad as London was. Mitch is actually a huge help, which is surprising until Dylan thinks about it: Erie beat London, so if Erie wins it all, it makes it better. It's like TK had said: nobody wants to lose to the loser.

"So," Dylan says, bracing himself, "tell me about our weak spots."

Mitch does. In great detail. Most of it is stuff Dylan was already aware of, but Mitch is able to tell him exactly how he was able to exploit a bunch of what he knew, which translates into Dylan being able to tell the guys what to defend against. They only have a day and a half before the Windsor series starts, but Dylan's sure he's got enough material to help his team gain an extra advantage.

Mitch cracks up when Dylan finally let him in on the big secret behind Brinksy's change in attitude since World Juniors. "Is there video?" he wheezes. "Tell me there's video."

"Sadly, no," Dylan says, patting his leg. "But if you want a turn, I'm sure he could use refresher course."

The look of unholy glee on Mitch's face is amazing, as is Brinksy's reaction when Dylan tells him what's going on.

"So, Mitch is going to annoy the shit out of you today," Dylan says. Mitch is in the locker room, making faces at the Otters practice jersey that Dylan had given him.

Brinksy squints at him. "Yes?"

"Annoying practice," Dylan clarifies.

It makes Brinksy snort. "Oh, got it. I thought you meant in general, and, like." He shrugs and grins. "Also yes."

"Don't hit him," Dylan calls as Brinksy skates away. He waits until he hears Mitch coming down the tunnel before adding, "Not too hard, anyway."

Brinksy turns around and yells back, "Finally, I get to pick on someone my own size."

Practice goes well; Coach is a little apprehensive about letting Mitch into their afternoon video session after the skate, but Dylan and Brinksy both vouch that he's there to help, so he eventually allows it. Mitch and Brinksy seem to have formed some sort of short-people brotherhood, so they lean close to each other and start chattering (Brinksy) and pointing excitedly (Mitch). Dylan tunes them out and starts taking notes.

He gets the chance to see what they were talking about when Coach flips the lights back on; Brinksy drags Mitch up to the front of the room and they act out a few of the things they picked out of the session, trying their best to explain what they had noticed and how the guys might be able to correct.

"Hey, cool, it's our own pint-sized soap opera! " Taylor calls out. "You should get up there, big bro."

Darren flips him the bird.

Hilariously, Coach seems to love the idea of acting things out. He positions Mitch and Brinksy like little Lego figurines and makes them go through a few more things before they're all dismissed with strict orders to sleep well and come to the rink prepared the next day.

Dylan slings an arm around Mitch's shoulders. "You're sworn to House Knoblauch now."

"I think I'm House Shanny," Mitch replies. "Sorry, not sorry."

Brinksy pokes Mitch in the ribs. "If you betray our noble House you'd better sleep with one eye open."

Mitch snorts and shoves his hand into Brinksy's face, and Dylan steps away from the ensuing wrestling match.

Darren steps up next to him. "You're having a baby with that."

"Yup." Dylan grins and shows him the latest ultrasound.

"Holy shit, that's cute," Darren says, grabbing it out of Dylan's hands. He grins at it for a moment before whistling sharply, getting the attention of most of the guys who are still in the room. "Baby pics!"

Brinksy scowls up at Mitch from where he's pinned to the floor. "Traitor. Why didn't you tell me?"

Mitch smacks an obnoxious kiss to Brinksy's cheek. "Surprise!"

Brinksy shoves him off and scrubs at his cheek. "Ew, Knights cooties."

"The baby's gonna be half-Knight," Marchy calls out. "Does that mean you're never gonna hold him?"

"The baby's going to be half-Leaf, " Brinksy corrects. "That's totally different."

"You're super American," Marchy points out, undeterred. "Since when are you a Leafs fan?"

Brinksy tackles him, for the sake of patriotism.

Mitch stands up and loops his arm around Dylan's waist. "Let's leave them to it," he suggests, and Dylan couldn't agree more.

-0-

Waking up from his pre-game nap next to Mitch is weird. Good weird, but it's definitely not part of Dylan's routine. It's something Dylan has to tell himself very firmly not to get used to, because he knows it wouldn't take much for this to become something he misses.

Mitch rolls over, and apparently he doesn't like the look on Dylan's face. "What's this for?" he asks, reaching out to rub his thumb over the frown Dylan can feel creasing his forehead.

"I love you," Dylan says. "And I'm having a feeling. Let me lay here for a minute and it'll probably go away."

"Is it a Captain Hardass feeling?" Mitch teases.

"It's a 'maybe I'll kidnap you and keep you forever so I can always wake up with you' feeling," Dylan replies. "I don't think that's particularly hardass."

Mitch makes a pained noise and burrows in close. Well, as close as he can get around the bump.

"We need to get up," Dylan says, even as he hugs Mitch tightly. "We have to get to the rink."

"You're the one who's always moving away," Mitch complains.

Dylan's breath catches a little. "Sorry."

"Fuck. No, Dyls, I'm being a jerk. " Mitch's face feels hot against Dylan's neck. "You have to leave your family at the end of every summer and I'm just—I never had to. Sorry."

"I'd stay if I could," Dylan mumbles into Mitch's hair. "You know that, right?"

"Of course I know. I'm being a brat." Mitch squeezes him tight one last time and then lets go, moving back so Dylan has room to manoeuvre himself out of bed.

It doesn't take them long to get ready for the game; they've both had years of practice to hone down their routines. Getting ready to go to the rink isn't any different just because neither one of them is playing.

Dylan kisses Mitch before they go their separate ways, because why the hell not.

"I'll text you if I see anything weird," Mitch promises. "Kick ass, babe."

They do, in fact, kick ass; the whole team explodes right out of the gate, and the Spitfires never have a chance to catch up. They take the first game 6-2 and the second game 4-1, and by the time they're pulling into the hotel parking lot in Windsor ahead of game three, Dylan's feeling pretty confident.

Mitch is heading inside with their bags when Dylan's phone starts blowing up.

_R U READY FOR THIS JELLY_ , he gets. It's a group chat with a few of the Mississauga-area hockey players and a few numbers Dylan doesn't know. Before he can reply, a photo pops up in the chat window. He starts laughing so hard he has to stumble over to a bench.

_wtf r u wearing_ , he texts back.

_BABY PANTS_ , Mikey McLeod texts back. _we went back 2 the baby store n bought like 15 pairs of em and then found dudes to wear em all_

Dylan's still laughing when the next text comes. _ps were all in windsor n were coming 2 ur game CHEERING SECTION HELL YEAH_

"Are you okay?" Mitch asks. He's dropped their bags at his feet.

"Yes," Dylan wheezes. "Check your phone."

_ok roll call_ , Mikey texts as Mitch is looking at the group chat. _dyls this is everybody, everybody say hi_

_AND SAY UR NAME smartasses_

Mitch's phone pings over and over. Dylan had the foresight to mute his when Mikey gave the heads-up. It's mostly guys Dylan knows, or at least guys he knows _of_ ; he's actually really touched that so many of them would show up to a game in enemy territory for him. Even if they're all wearing the worst maternity pants he's ever seen.

"Mitch, say hi to your new entourage, " Dylan teases.

"Selfie time," Mitch announces, crowding into Dylan's space and holding his phone out. "Make a terrible face. Duck face."

Dylan laughs when Mitch sends the photo; Mitch might be the master of the duck face selfie, but Dylan kind of looks like he's about to sneeze.

_wow hot_ Mikey texts back. _is that y they wont let u on th ice_.

_im too sexy for ur ice_ , Mitch sends back, snickering.

There's enough of a delay that Dylan has time to regret his life. Then his phone pings with notification of a video.

"Let's sit down first," Mitch suggests. "If we're already on the bed, we probably won't fall over laughing. And the pillows are handy if we need to cover our eyes."

Dylan would give a lot not to know what Mikey McLeod looks like twerking in maternity pants, but he can't unring that bell. Mitch is laughing his ass off, holding his phone in the air so he can still watch as Little Matt lip-syncs "I'm a model" and struts towards the camera wearing a pair of chevron-print yellow and purple pants.

"This is amazing," Mitch gasps out. "Oh, fuck, and they texted it, too. This is _forever_."

"You have to go sit with them," Dylan says. "We should've let Chris buy you that _I'm the baby daddy_ shirt."

"I'm pretty sure he went back for it, to be honest," Mitch says, still grinning at his phone. "Wedding present."

Dylan kisses him on the cheek. "This is going to be the best game ever."

It might not be the best game ever, but the Pants Brigade—Little Ryan's term, not Dylan's—manages to cheer them into an overtime victory. Someone has renamed the group chat _Pants Brigade_ by the time Dylan checks his phone after the game, and there are thirty-one messages waiting for him there.

Dylan's still trying to decide whether to read them now or wait until he's not in a semi-public place when a message comes in from Mitch.

_plz help me_

_???_ Dylan sends back.

Mitch sends back a selfie. He's wearing half a dozen cheap necklaces, and each one has a plastic pacifier charm hanging from it. _they raided a party city_ comes a moment later.

Dylan laughs at Mitch's pain. _is it safe 4 me or do i need bodyguards_

_i will protect u_ , Mitch sends. Before Dylan can reply, he adds, _but maybe bring a raddysh_

Dylan brings both Raddyshes and a DeBrincat, because none of them want to miss this. Brinksy's a few steps ahead of Dylan, which means he rounds the corner at the end of the hallway first. He stops short, then starts laughing so hard he stumbles into the wall. Dylan's already seen some of the outfits, but he bites his tongue so the Raddyshes can enjoy the view unspoiled.

"Holy shit," Darren breathes when he rounds the corner. "We need some."

Dylan grins. He can _just_ spot the top of Mitch's head in the crowd. "I know which one I want," he says as he slips into the crowd.

"Babe," Dylan says when he finds him, staring at the monstrosity strapped to Mitch's chest. "What the hell is that?"

"Don't hug me," Mitch says frantically. "It cries if you move too much." The plastic baby is hideous. It has _no eyelids_ but it absolutely has eyelashes painted onto its skin.

"Stromer!" Mikey shouts, appearing from somewhere in the crowd to carefully hug-check Dylan right into Mitch. Sure enough, the thing starts wailing.

"This is why you're not the godfather," Dylan says, raising his voice so Mikey can hear him over plastic-baby's screams.

"That's not even close to the only reason," Mikey says cheerily, patting Dylan's shoulder. "Good win."

Dylan pokes him in the side. "Good prank."

"I had to wear these pants in public," Mikey says sweetly. "Had to think of something."

"Hey," one of the guys Dylan doesn't know too well cuts in. "Stromer, what the hell are you wearing? Your pants are _normal_."

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "They're still pregnancy pants. They're just not the nightmare clown version."

The guy whirls on Mikey, pointing his finger accusingly. "Guys, we've been betrayed."

"You needed Finding Nemo pants!" Mikey exclaims, laughing as he backs away.

The Pants Brigade swarms around Dylan, checks out his ass/crotch/legs for an uncomfortably long time, and then they tackle Mikey en masse. Dylan grabs Mitch by the hand and pulls him out of the fray. This, of course, sets the plastic baby to wailing again.

Mitch squeezes Dylan's hand. "Want to go hide this abomination in the back of Mikey's car?"

Brinksy pops up next to them, somehow having avoided the teeming pile of limbs and clown fabric. "I vote you put it under his seat."

"Get his keys," Dylan instructs. "We'll find the car."

Brinksy grins, all teeth, and dives onto the Pants Brigade.

"That's our cue," Mitch says. "C'mon, we've got a terrifying baby to hide."

-0-

Connor plays his first game at Worlds on an off day, which is way more convenient than Dylan thought it would be. It doesn't count in the standings, but that doesn't mean Dylan's not gonna be Connor's cheering section. He's trying to choose between an Otters hoodie and a Team Canada hoodie when Nuge pops up on Skype.

"Pooky bear!" Dylan says as he accepts the call. He holds both hoodies up. "Otters For Life, or Go Canada Go?"

"Go Canada Go," Nuge replies. "Otters might be for life but he's mine now, sweetie."

"Otters it is," Dylan says cheerily, dropping the Canada one to the ground. "I'll get Mitch to wear the Canada one."

Nuge props his chin on his good hand. "Aww, I finally get to meet your worse half?"

"He's getting lunch," Dylan says. "But when he gets back, you can subject him to the Inquisition, angel face."

"Is that Connor?" Mitch says, walking through the doorway.

"Connor's skating warmups," Nuge says. "Or, well, he'd better be. That's what he said he was leaving to do when he stopped texting me."

To his credit, Mitch manages to set their lunch down on the desk before he loses it. Dylan grabs for his sandwich and starts eating. This should be good.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mitch demands, as if he didn't Google-stalk Ryan Nugent-Hopkins the second he found out who Connor was dating.

Nuge waves. "I'm Ryan. I've heard that there are too many of those in your life, though, so Nuge is also fine."

"You fell off the bed laughing when you found out Connor's dating a guy whose nickname is Nugget," Dylan adds, grinning at the look on Mitch's face.

Mitch flaps a hand. "I know who you are. Just—who do you think you are?" He sits on the bed with a huff and wraps a possessive arm around Dylan.

Nuge's eyebrows go up, and Dylan turns to frown at Mitch. He looks legit pissed, and Dylan mentally rewinds his conversation, wondering what he could possibly—

"Oh my god," he says, starting to laugh. "Babe. Chill out. It's a thing, but not that kind of thing."

Nuge snorts. "Oh my god," he echoes. "You're worse at dealing with emotions than Connor."

"Take that back," Mitch retorts, even as he's turning to Dylan. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Strome, I think you need to use your words," Nuge says. The bastard is enjoying this, after all the shit Dylan gave him over the mess with Connor.

Dylan points at his laptop. "Shut your face," he says sternly. Mitch tightens his grip on Dylan's hip, and Dylan turns to him and smiles. "Breathe? Please? It's just a stupid nicknames thing. Who can come up with the worst ones, that sort of thing." He shrugs a little. "I mean, I usually call him Nutter Butter, so."

Mitch wrinkles his nose, apparently torn between disgust and confusion. "Why?"

"Because he calls me snickerdoodle?"

"They're super American," Nuge pipes up. "So's your team."

"And Nutter Butter, y'know," Dylan says. "Two names for the same thing! Starts with the right letter!"

"Again, I'm back to why," Mitch retorts.

Dylan makes a face. "Well, I can't call him Ryan. I already have two of those."

"I think it had something to do with Connor?" Nuge adds. "Originally, I mean. I don't actually remember." He smiles a little. "He knows, in case you're wondering. He thinks it's weird, but also kind of cute."

"And sometimes it makes his face turn purple," Dylan adds. "I'm afraid to ask what that's about."

"Don't," Nuge says immediately. His face goes an interesting shade of pink, which of course makes Dylan want to text Connor and ask right now.

Mitch puts his hand on Dylan's wrist. "I'm not asking, and neither are you."

Dylan turns to face him. "How did you know—"

"I've met you," Mitch says, starting to grin. "I _married_ you. You think I don't know what you're thinking?"

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Okay then, what did you think I was thinking when you walked in here?"

"Shut up," Mitch mutters, face going red. "I wasn't expecting it, okay?"

"Leave him alone, he's nesting," Nuge chimes in.

Mitch turns to face him. "That's not actually helpful."

"Wait, I'm supposed to be helpful?" Nuge's face is the picture of surprise.

Dylan thinks about it for a minute. Nuge was definitely kidding, but he has a point: Mitch's season is already over, and the next big thing on his list is setting up house in Toronto with Dylan and the baby. No wonder he's getting a little territorial.

He reaches out and mutes the Skype window for a minute. "Hey, I love you," he says quietly to Mitch. "Sorry. I forgot you didn't know about the weird nicknames thing."

"I'll forgive you if it means I can help you come up with a way worse nickname," Mitch replies, smiling hesitantly.

"Please do," Dylan says, leaning in to kiss him.

When he pulls back Nuge is sitting still, politely looking off-camera. Dylan isn't fooled. He unmutes the window. "Okay, all is well. Ready to watch Canada kick the other kids' butts?"

Nuge beams. "I don't know, I'm kind of attached to the channel I'm on," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Mitch smirks at him and makes a show out of pushing his hand up Dylan's shirt. "Is that so?"

Nuge wolf-whistles, and Dylan is abruptly reminded of why he kept these two apart so long: their smiles are so intense no-one would ever believe either of them are so nasty.

"Okay, no, look up pregnancy porn on your own time," Dylan says, yanking Mitch's hand out of his clothes. "We've got a game to watch." He puts on the Otters hoodie, tugging it down firmly over his belly.

"Thank you for not making me wear the Otters one," Mitch says solemnly, picking up the Canada hoodie from the floor. "I would, but I wouldn't be happy about it."

"True love," Nuge coos.

Dylan gives him the most unimpressed look he can manage. "Says the guy who texted me three times this morning to make sure he converted time zones right so he wouldn't miss his boyfriend's game."

Nuge grins, unrepentant. "We can double date this summer!"

"Yes," Mitch says, just as Dylan says, "No fucking way, cupcake."

"Shh, it's Connor Time," Nuge replies.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "You started it."

"Which means I get to end it," Nuge replies. "And bring it up later. In front of Connor. Who will totally be on my side, and you'll be outnumbered."

They settle down after that, as much as it's possible to settle down when Dylan's talking to Nuge. Adding Mitch to the mix doesn't exactly help with that, but Dylan's glad he's here anyway. Even after he almost chokes on his glass of water when Mitch calls Nuge sugar-pie.

Nuge looks astonished for about half a second before his expression goes gleeful. "Oh, honey lips, we're gonna get along just fine, aren't we?"

Mitch purses his lips in a ridiculous pout. Dylan can't help himself; he leans right in and kisses Mitch.

"And that's how babies are made, kids," Nuge says to no-one in particular.

"This particular baby started with us not winning at World Juniors," Dylan shoots back. "You'd better hope Connor medals, sweetums."

"Well, let's watch and see," Nuge says, nodding at the screen. When Dylan looks, the game is starting.

Canada ends up kicking ass, but the Czech Republic make them work for it. Canada goes up 2-0 halfway through the first, and then there's a whole lot of missed chances and almost-there rushes from both sides, but no score for the rest of the period. The second is more scrappy, closely-fought battles, but it's still 2-0 heading into the third. Time starts ticking down, and they're over halfway through the period when Connor does the kind of magic only he can pull off.

"Fuck," Nuge groans, and Dylan is halfway to agreeing with him before he realises that he and Nuge probably aren't actually thinking the same thing about it at this point. "I'm just gonna—" Nuge waggles his phone in front of the camera, but Dylan's pretty sure calling Connor isn't exactly what he's _just gonna_ do.

"He's still playing," Mitch says. "Send dick pics later."

"Use Snapchat," Dylan adds hastily, just in case. Nuge was drafted only a year after Hallsy and Seguin. Thinking with your dick seems to run in that generation. Then again, people probably think the same about Dylan and Mitch.

Nuge rolls his eyes. "I'm texting. Words." He makes a show out of typing on his phone, then sets it down and smirks. "I'll save the fun stuff for Skype later."

Mitch laughs. "How dare you sully the good name of Skype."

"At least FaceTime it," Dylan adds.

Nuge blows him a kiss. "Whatever you say, snickerdoodle."

"Damn right," Dylan says, satisfied. They lapse back into silence as the game comes back from commercial; the Czech Republic team has pretty much given up, since the game doesn't matter, and it ends without much fanfare after a few more minutes.

Mitch throws his hands in the air. "Our boy got a goal on international ice!"

" _My_ boy," Nuge says smugly. "Also, he's scored internationally before. Or have you forgotten about all the hardware he's brought back to Canada?"

"Semantics," Mitch says dismissively. "You know what I mean."

Dylan sighs. "Why did I let you two meet?" Now he knows how Connor feels.

"Easier than trying to keep us from meeting for the rest of our lives," Nuge points out. "Since you guys are married, and I'm with Connor."

"Okay, good talking to you. Bye!" Dylan says abruptly, and shuts the laptop.

"Did he just...?" Mitch's goo-goo eyes are almost as bad as the first time he saw the speck.

"Yup. Those two are really something," Dylan replies.

" _The rest of our lives_ ," Mitch quotes.

"We should start planning their wedding now," Dylan says, grinning. "Since Connor planned ours."

Mitch flops back on the bed. "How do you even _deal_ with that?"

"There may have been kicky-feet involved at one point," Dylan confesses.

"Only one point?" Mitch reaches out to pat his hand. "You're a stronger man than I."

Dylan lies down beside him and waggles his eyebrows. "I know."

Mitch turns on his side and grins at Dylan. "So, the game's over and we have all this free time before team dinner," he starts, reaching out to rest his hand on Dylan's hip. "How ever will we pass the time?"

"I think we can come up with something," Dylan says, leaning in.


	19. Chapter 19

Apparently the Pants Brigade was their key to winning in Windsor, because they drop the next game 4-2. It's frustrating and exhausting to watch, the kind of game where nothing goes right and it's all the guys can do to not let the score get crazy. They have the next day off, though, and Dylan's privately really, really glad that he'll have the whole day to be at home for Mitch's birthday. The drive home is quiet, and Dylan dozes in the passenger seat for most of it. He's supposed to have more energy now that he's in his second trimester, but that probably doesn't include staying up late working.

Mitch smiles at him when they make it back to Dylan's billet. "C'mon, bed," he coaxes.

"Mmm, bed." When they get out of the car Dylan grabs Mitch's hand and drags him inside. They can get their bags tomorrow.

He falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow and manages to sleep like the dead. When he finally wakes up, it's to the feeling of Mitch curled around him, snoring softly against the back of his neck.

Dylan carefully wriggles out of bed and goes to make him breakfast. This is probably the last time for a very long time that Mitch will get to sleep in on his birthday. He manages eggs and frozen waffles; he's pretty good at making the real ones, but the Murphys don't have a waffle iron, and he's pretty useless at pancakes.

He's just trying to figure out how to get it all upstairs and manage to open his bedroom door when Mitch stumbles into the kitchen.

"Where'd you," he mumbles, still clearly half-asleep. A smile creeps across his face as he takes in the scene. "Breakfast?"

Dylan picks up a mug of coffee and crosses the room. "Happy birthday," he says, and kisses Mitch awake.

"Best birthday," Mitch says when Dylan pulls back. He keeps himself pressed to Dylan even as he takes the coffee from him and turns his head so he can take a sip.

Dylan hugs him close. "We've got the house to ourselves all day."

He can feel Mitch's smile against his collarbone. "Oh, so this isn't breakfast. It's fuel."

Dylan slides his hand down Mitch's back to grab his ass. "Eat more protein."

"The hockey player's oath of love," Mitch says, leaning up to steal another kiss. "Let's eat so we can celebrate Me Day."

Dylan waits until they're sitting down before he motions towards Mitch's coffee mug. He's already downed half of it. "So. Like your present?"

"Coffee? Yes. Always yes to coffee."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "The mug, babe."

Mitch stares at it, frowning, but he's looking at the blank side. Dylan sighs and reaches over the table to turn it around for him. Morning Mitch is not the sharpest Mitch there is.

"When did you—" Mitch chokes out. "Did you have it delivered before I got here?"

"Yeah," Dylan says, grinning hard. Amazon had come through for him once again; the mug has "Best Daddy Ever" on the side. "Wait, look." He grabs the mug and lifts it to his mouth like he's going to take a sip, and somehow manages to smile even wider when Mitch chokes as he sees the bottom, which is taken up entirely by a giant "#1."

"Caffeine's bad for you," Mitch says halfheartedly, his voice wobbling.

"Didn't really take a sip," Dylan says, setting it back down. "I was just showing it off." He's learning, slowly, to just roll with Mitch's crazy nesting instincts and let him be overprotective. At least until they're settled in Toronto and Mitch can start feathering his actual nest.

They manage to finish eating even though it feels like they can't stop smiling at each other, and Mitch insists on hand-washing his new mug instead of sticking it in the dishwasher with the rest of their dishes.

"Ready for the other half of your present?" Dylan says when they're done cleaning up.

Mitch looks at him for a moment. "Is it sex?"

"It's totally sex."

"Well, in that case," Mitch says, grabbing Dylan's hand and pulling him towards the stairs. "I'm totally ready. Or, well, I'm definitely ready for you to _get_ me ready."

Fuck, this is going to be so good. They haven't had much time lately for anything more than lazy handjobs or sloppy blowjobs. Not that those aren't fun, but Dylan wants to take his time. They've got hours ahead of them with no other plans, and Mrs. Murphy had made a huge deal out of telling Dylan that she and Mr. Murphy were going out right after work and wouldn't be home until at least seven.

They get up to Dylan's room in record time. Mitch pulls him inside and kicks the door shut. "Do I have to unwrap my present myself or are you going to help?"

"Wait, now I'm confused," Dylan says, laughing a little. "Am I the present in this metaphor or are you?"

Mitch lets go of Dylan's hand and starts wriggling out of his shirt. "Sex is the present."

"How do you unwrap," Dylan starts to ask, but Mitch rolls his eyes so hard Dylan can almost feel it, so he grins and starts pulling off his clothes.

If there's one thing hockey players know it's how to get naked efficiently. It helps that neither of them had bothered changing out of pajamas yet, too; they're both stripped and reaching for each other in under a minute.

Mitch kisses him like they haven't seen each other in weeks. He's frantic and greedy about it, and Dylan lets him go for it. They have time; if they're fast now, they can be slow later.

Mitch breaks off the kiss, dragging his mouth down Dylan's neck. "Bed," he mumbles. "Bed. Now."

Dylan can get behind that. Or in front; whatever the birthday boy wants.

They get to the bed without falling or bumping into anything, which Dylan considers a major victory. It's fast and pretty undignified; Mitch braces himself above Dylan and jerks them off together without even a hint of finesse.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard later," Dylan promises when he can breathe again.

"Good," Mitch says, flopping to Dylan's side and curling against him. "Soon, right? Not, like, later-later."

Dylan pats him on the ass. "Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging."

"You'd better not," Mitch says. "It's my _birthday, _Dyls."__

__Dylan grins evilly. "Go shorty, it's your birthday."_ _

__Mitch snorts. "If you think you're the first person to make that joke, think again," he says dryly. "If you even think you're the first person to make that joke _today_ , you're wrong."_ _

__"Brinksy?" Dylan asks hopefully._ _

__"He wasn't first either, but he did go there," Mitch says. "Nah, it's like a yearly thing with the Knights."_ _

__Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "We should party like it's your birthday."_ _

__"We absolutely should," Mitch replies, giving him a filthy smirk. "Where's the lube?"_ _

__-0-_ _

__The Murphys wave at them on their way in later, but go straight upstairs to their bedroom, so Dylan and Mitch finish Mitch's birthday off with dinner ordered in so they can watch the Isles game. They play well, but the Panthers are a scary team; Dylan's just glad that Mitch is there to hug him when the buzzer sounds and Ryan's skating around on TV, looking lost._ _

__"They'll get 'em next time," Dylan says half-heartedly as he sends Ryan a string of sad face emojis._ _

__"You mean _you'll_ get 'em," Mitch says. "You're gonna be scary, you know that? Putting you on that team with your brother and Tavares..." He trails off and whistles._ _

__"I hope so." Dylan's had butterflies in his stomach since puck drop, and he can't seem to shake the feeling even though the game's over._ _

__"Let's go to bed," Mitch suggests. "Big game tomorrow. Also, your team's playing for a championship or something."_ _

__Dylan grimaces. "Don't know if I can sleep. I feel like I ate a bad taco."_ _

__Mitch frowns. "Are you allowed Tums? Or, I don't know, maybe water would help."_ _

__"Water sounds good. I think I hurt my throat yelling," Dylan admits._ _

__"Water it is," Mitch says. He leans in for a kiss before standing and offering his hand. "C'mon, let's get some water and then see if Davo's awake yet so we can tell him about our plan to disown him if he loses to Belarus."_ _

__Talking to Connor makes everything better. He laughs and promises not to lose to Belarus. "How about the US?" he teases. "Matthews is pretty good at hockey."_ _

__Dylan points sternly at his screen. "You get one loss," he says. "That's it. Choose wisely."_ _

__"And if you prove American superiority, Brinsky will stage a godfather coup," Mitch jokes._ _

__"No," Connor says immediately. "I choose, uh. I choose not America. Loss to be determined later."_ _

__Dylan nods. "Good choice."_ _

__Someone says something on Connor's side of the screen, and he snorts. "I'm being summoned," he says dryly. "Have a good game tomorrow, yeah?"_ _

__"Don't forget us when you collect new friends," Mitch teases._ _

__Dylan snorts because yeah, it happens every time. When you play alongside Connor you learn firsthand that all the hype is justified, and it's impossible to hate him._ _

__"I'm stealing Domi," Connor says cheerily. "Bye!" And he hangs up._ _

__Mitch pouts at the dark screen. "That's not fair."_ _

__Dylan laughs; he can't help it. "Sorry, babe," he says. "We should sleep, though. I guess the water helped."_ _

__"Or maybe you just missed Davo's face." Mitch gives Dylan an obnoxiously wet kiss on the cheek, and goes to get ready for bed._ _

__"Maybe it's the speck," Dylan calls after him. "Maybe he misses Davo's face. Voice. Whatever."_ _

__Mitch's face falls. "She never missed _me_."_ _

__"Of course he did," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "But even when you're not here, we talk pretty much every day. He hears your voice all the time anyway. He's been Davo-less for days and days now." Dylan grins at him. "He can't miss you, 'cause you won't go away."_ _

__Mitch starts trying his best to rip the hem of his T-shirt. "I will, though. I'll have to go to prospect camp."_ _

__"And we'll still talk," Dylan says, frowning. "Or, like. Do the Leafs put a phone ban on you?"_ _

__"No. I don't think so." Mitch frowns back at him. "I just don't want to miss anything. And I know I have to."_ _

__"Oh." It's not... There's nothing Dylan can say to make this better and he knows it, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to try. "He'll still know who you are, Mitch. You're still his dad even if you're not there for every single second."_ _

__"We could have a great place in Toronto, with Davo, but what happens when I'm the only one left?" Mitch chokes out._ _

__"Babe," Dylan says helplessly. He pats the bed beside him and reels Mitch in for a hug when he sits down. "You won't—I'm always coming back to you. We both are. You know that, right?"_ _

__Mitch nods but his eyes are glassy._ _

__"I'm sorry," Dylan manages, burying his face in Mitch's hair. "I wish—I wish we could be on the same team. I wish this was..."_ _

__"Fuck," Mitch cuts in. "I'm guilt-tripping you again. I feel like I can't get anything right."_ _

__"I love you," Dylan says helplessly. "I don't know what we can do to make this better. I don't know who we would ask, even."_ _

__"I thought when I got here I'd be able to _do_ something." Mitch takes a shuddering breath, and if he's not crying yet he will be soon._ _

__"Like what?" Dylan murmurs. "Tell me what you want to do, babe." He'll go along with pretty much anything if it makes Mitch happier._ _

__Mitch shrugs. "I want to be _useful_."_ _

__Dylan thinks frantically for a moment. "What if—we're moving to Toronto. I'm not coming all the way back here for Dr. Shea Weber." He shrugs a little. "I, uh. Haven't really looked into doctors up there yet?" He's been meaning to get around to it; he flagged the email Dr. Weber's office sent with recommendations as _important_ and everything. "Playoffs," he adds vaguely when Mitch pulls back to give him a horrified, still-teary glare._ _

__"Okay, yeah, a doctor is something we're going to need," Mitch agrees, horror-glare firmly in place. "And when we're done I'm telling Davo."_ _

__"No," Dylan groans. "Don't do that."_ _

__"And Ryan," Mitch adds._ _

__"I thought you loved me," Dylan whines._ _

__Mitch rolls his eyes. "I do love you. That's why I'm forming a task force to get shit organised."_ _

__"You're snitching," Dylan says. "Tattletale."_ _

__"Delegating," Mitch corrects._ _

__"By snitching," Dylan adds._ _

__Mitch hums thoughtfully. "Maybe Nuge can talk to some people before we get there, narrow things down..."_ _

__Dylan sighs loudly. "Let me know if my input is needed," he says. He's pretty sure it won't be, or at least not right away, and he's fine with that._ _

__"We'll make sure you don't have to deal with blatant assholes," Mitch promises._ _

__"Good," Dylan says. He's pretty sure Dr. Weber wouldn't have recommended anyone who was a blatant asshole, but it's always better to double-check._ _

__Mitch pulls out his phone and opens the notepad. "They need to know how important it is for you to get back to work."_ _

__Dylan scoots down the bed so he can lay back, curling into Mitch's side. "Absolutely."_ _

__"And they need to take us seriously."_ _

__Mitch types furiously as he comes up with ideas, and Dylan's content to leave him to it. Sleep is beckoning._ _

__-0-_ _

__Dylan calls Ryan to commiserate over the Isles' loss, and Ryan says a lot of the same things Mitch had been saying about doing better with Dylan there, which is awesome to hear. He spends the whole day in a great mood, which makes the game against Windsor kind of anticlimactic; the Otters score three times in the first, and the Spits never manage to catch up. They have five days off between the end of the Windsor series and the OHL championship, and Dylan's only plans other than practices are to watch as many Team Canada games as he possibly can, and to have a serious talk with Mitch about Connor's house offer._ _

__They drag themselves out of bed at too-early-o'clock for the Belarus game because that's how much they love Connor. He does not, in fact, lose to Belarus; Canada wins 8-0, which is, in Dylan's opinion, a comfortable margin to win by._ _

__"Go Canada!" Mitch says, holding his hand up for a fist bump._ _

__"We don't have to have his passport revoked," Dylan says happily, bumping their fists. "That's good. I'm pretty sure Nutter Butter would fight us."_ _

__Mitch snorts. "Nah, he'd probably propose so Connor could get his citizenship back."_ _

__"And they'd live happily ever after," Dylan says. "Seriously. Those two are..." He trails off and shakes his head, but he's grinning. "If we do the house thing with them, you'll see."_ _

__"Is that a pro or a con?" Mitch asks. He looks like he's on the verge of starting yet another spreadsheet._ _

__Dylan grabs his hand before Mitch can get up to find his laptop. "Can we just talk about it? Not pros and cons, just... talk."_ _

__"I can do talking. Do you want a snack before we get started?"_ _

__Before he can say anything, his stomach grumbles. Mitch grins and leans in to peck his cheek before he heads for the kitchen. "Whatever the princess wants," Mitch calls over his shoulder._ _

__"He wants the Cheez-Its in the pantry," Dylan yells after him. "And a purple Gatorade."_ _

__Mitch comes back with Dylan's gourmet requests. "I thought you hated cheese right now."_ _

__"These are non-dairy cheese food," Dylan replies. "It says so on the label."_ _

__"So it's not cheese, it's dairy?" Mitch asks, frowning._ _

__"It's definitely cheese," Dylan replies. "These are not cheese. These taste like orange food colouring."_ _

__Mitch shakes his head and sits down. "I am so confused."_ _

__Dylan holds out a Cheez-It like a peace offering. "I love you anyway?"_ _

__Mitch grins widely, and snatches his treasure with his teeth._ _

__"Dork," Dylan mutters, poking him in the nose._ _

__Mitch bats his eyelashes. "Your dork."_ _

__"True," Dylan agrees. He munches on a few Cheez-Its and washes them down with his Gatorade before he brings it up again. "So. House."_ _

__"House," Mitch echoes. "With people in it."_ _

__"It would definitely have people in it," Dylan says, nodding. "Davo's my best friend, and I know that I'd have no problem living with him. And I like Nuge, based on Skyping with him." He reaches out for Mitch's hand again. "You don't know Nuge at all, though, and I have no idea if you'd even want to live with Davo." For all the lists, they haven't really talked about opinions._ _

__"Our other option is staying with my parents," Mitch replies. "I love my family but I'm pretty sure they'll end up driving you nuts, Dyls."_ _

__"If you don't want to do it, we'll figure something else out," Dylan says. He's got a vague idea about Ryan's condo, if it comes down to it. "It's not our only option, babe. Don't say yes just for me."_ _

__Mitch ducks his head. "I've been thinking about it a lot. I'll be gone half the time this summer, at prospect camp and whatever media stuff the Leafs line up for me. I want you to be settled somewhere you're comfortable before the baby comes." He takes Dylan's hand and holds on tight. "Can't think of anyone better to take care of you while I'm gone than Davo."_ _

__Dylan very firmly tells himself not to cry, but he's pretty sure he's going to lose that battle. "He'd come stay with me," he says. "If we were somewhere else and you had to leave. You know he would."_ _

__"I know, but this way Davo wouldn't have to sleep on the sofa. You _know_ he would," Mitch points out._ _

__"He would," Dylan agrees. "I just... it feels like the only reason you're doing this is because of me. I don't want you to do something you don't want to do just because of me, Mitch."_ _

__Mitch squeezes his hand. "It's for the speck, too. And if I don't like it, I can find somewhere else after the season starts."_ _

__"Are we doing this?" Dylan asks. "It sounds like we're doing this. Or trying it, at least."_ _

__"I want to try." Mitch shrugs. "And if it turns out the four of us can't get along enough to decide on a house, we'll do something else. It's not happening tomorrow, Dyls."_ _

__"Okay," Dylan says. "Okay. That sounds good." He smiles at Mitch. "Want to figure out a good real estate app and start window shopping?"_ _

__Mitch beams. "You had me at app."_ _

__"I had you at 'maybe your hockey isn't fucking terrible all the time,' don't even front," Dylan teases. It seems like forever since they'd gone from rivals to being together._ _

__"Charmer," Mitch says, grabbing his phone and leaning into Dylan's side._ _

__Dylan plants an obnoxious, sloppy kiss on his cheek and snuggles up close._ _

__Mitch downloads four different real estate apps that all claim to be the best. They spend half an hour looking up their parents' houses with all of them, trying to get a feel for which one will be the most useful._ _

__"Hmm. Well, it's going to be a hockey house," Mitch says eventually. "So no steps to the front door, in case one of us ends up needing crutches."_ _

__"A first-floor guest room," Dylan adds. "Same reason."_ _

__"And somewhere that isn't miles from practice facilities." Mitch makes a face at his phone. "Other than that I don't really know what Davo's looking for."_ _

__"How about what we're looking for?" Dylan asks. "You know he's gonna make us list everything we could ever possibly want in a house."_ _

__"Where do we even start?" Mitch complains, but he has a gleam in his eye that suggests he just doesn't want to freak Dylan out with the lists he already has._ _

__"Why don't you tell me," Dylan says, settling himself as comfortably as he can on the sofa. He has the feeling this is going to take a while._ _

__-0-_ _

__They end up facing Barrie in the OHL final. They're a tough team, but the Otters take game one at home 5-3, so they set off on the right foot. The Murphys insist on going out for dinner to celebrate. It's a nice evening; they're not out too late, and Dylan's struck once again by how much he really likes the Murphys. They've always been supportive, and he's going to miss them like crazy when he's in New York next year._ _

__Game two doesn't go as smoothly. It starts out fine; the Otters get two in the first and another in the second, and the Colts only manage to put a single shot past Williams. By the time they're five minutes into the third, Dylan can almost sense the bad blood rolling across the ice._ _

__"Don't do anything stupid," he mutters under his breath, watching as the guys jostle for position on the faceoff._ _

__Right on cue Brinksy drops his gloves and launches himself at Barrie's #62._ _

__"Oh, what the fuck," Dylan groans. Sure, the guy's been jawing at Brinksy since the period started, but he'd been pretty sure that annoyance lessons had paid off. Apparently Brinksy needs another dose._ _

__Brinksy lands a couple of solid punches before the refs get to them. #62 reaches past the ref to try for a sucker punch. He doesn't get it, probably because one of the other Barrie players is helping to drag him away from Brinksy, who looks like he's ready to gnaw the ref's arm off if it'll let him skate after #62._ _

__"Fucking idiots," Dylan mutters as he waits for penalties to be assessed._ _

__Brinksy skates straight to the box and sits, grinning fiercely at anyone who tries to catch his eye. His face is kind of a mess; his lip is split, and once his penalties are up, he's gonna have to get stitches. #62 starts heading for the box, but one of the refs tugs him aside. He definitely protests whatever the ref says, but after a moment he heads for the tunnel._ _

__"Will you look at that," Coach says, elbowing Dylan lightly._ _

__"Did Brinsky just win a fight?" Dylan asks, astonished. "I'd say we can never tell him, but I'm pretty sure he already knows. Shit."_ _

__One of the refs skates over to talk to Coach before he can answer. "Five for fighting, plus two for instigating," he says briskly. "And Barrie gets five for fighting, plus a game misconduct for unsportsmanlike conduct."_ _

__Dylan whistles. "We're going to have one hell of a last period."_ _

__Coach nods grimly. "Hopefully that's the last of that," he says, but he doesn't sound like he's actually hopeful._ _

__The game actually goes fairly calmly after that; it's mostly clean, and Lodnia gets them an empty netter with 32 seconds left, so they take the game pretty handily. Barrie's captain pulls Brinksy aside before he skates back to the bench, but whatever they talk about, at least there's no more punching._ _

__Dylan crosses his arms and waits ever so patiently for Brinksy at the bench._ _

__Before he can say anything, though, Taylor leans over and nudges him, an unusually serious look on his face. "Don't beat him up too much," he says. "That dude—I would've jumped him, if he said it to me."_ _

__"Then maybe Coach should get you all back on the ice, to burn off the macho bullshit," Dylan replies._ _

__"Just don't tear him a new one," Taylor says before he heads for the locker room. He didn't rise to the bait at all, which is... kind of worrisome._ _

__"Not here," Brinksy says when he reaches Dylan._ _

__"Brinks—"_ _

__"We'll talk," Brinksy says. "I promise. Not here, Stromer." He sounds like a captain._ _

__Dylan just nods and lets him go into the locker room. He pulls out his phone to text Mitch while he waits, and there's three increasingly long lines of question marks._ _

___idk_ , he texts back. _finding out. distract the ms?__ _

__Mitch sends back a thumbs up emoji and a string of kisses._ _

__"Hey," Brinksy says as he plops onto the bench next to Dylan. "Put that face away, dude. You're in public."_ _

__"At least I don't stink like a sweaty jock strap," Dylan shoots back._ _

__"I would threaten to sweat on you, but you might puke on me," Brinksy says. "Consider this a warning for, like, next year."_ _

__"Noted," Dylan says. "So. What the fuck?"_ _

__Brinksy balls his hand into a fist. "You don't want to know. It was totally justified though; dude's gross."_ _

__"I kinda need to know," Dylan says carefully. "If he said something... something that bad, Brinks—"_ _

__"It was that bad," Brinksy cuts in. "But it wasn't about me. Let it go, Stromer."_ _

__"Who was it about, then?" Dylan insists. "Damnit, Brinks, I'm still captain."_ _

__"Dylan," he says, and he sounds so fucking resigned, which is when it clicks._ _

__Dylan laughs a little incredulously. "Did you get in a fight over _me_?" Brinksy presses his lips together, stubbornly refusing to say the words, but Dylan knows anyway. "What the fuck," he says again. "Brinks. Alex. That doesn't—you can't just—"_ _

__"He wasn't just being a dick," Brinksy blurts out. "He threatened you."_ _

__Dylan feels his jaw drop a little. "He _what_?"_ _

__"He was smart enough not to spell it out, but—Jesus, do you really want to know?" Brinksy slumps against Dylan's shoulder._ _

__"I... Mitch and I have a system. We have people who deal with threats for us," Dylan says. Because yeah, it hasn't been all sunshine and roses since the interview was released but they'd rather not know the details. That's what Sylvie and her team are for._ _

__"I dealt with it," Brinksy mumbles into Dylan's jacket. "The ref heard what he said. That's why he got tossed. And Webster, at the end there—they're scratching him for the rest of the series. Voluntarily."_ _

__Dylan puts an arm around him. "Thanks. And don't do it again."_ _

__"I will absolutely do it again if I have to," Brinksy says, but he snakes an arm around Dylan's waist and they sideways-hug it out._ _

__"Brinks?" Dylan asks, and Brinksy hums a little. "Look, like I said, we've got people for this. If you won't tell me, could I get you to call Sylvie and tell her? That way, if it's something we need to worry about..."_ _

__"That I can do," Brinksy promises._ _

__"Thanks," Dylan says, hugging him tighter for a second before shoving him away. "Now go shower. You smell."_ _

__Brinksy laughs as he heads for the shower, shaking his hips and singing, "Haters gonna hate..."_ _

__-0-_ _

__They have a travel day to Barrie, and then a light skate the morning of game three. Word comes down that #62 is suspended for five games, which means his OHL career is over. Of course, him not being in the lineup doesn't help them get a win; it's an off night for Williams, and they drop it 5-1. Dylan pulls his Otters cap down low in an attempt to hide his face. He's a crier at the best of times, and being almost five months pregnant doesn't exactly help. Mitch cuddles him to his heart's content that night, though, so between that and the text he gets during skate the next day that his grandparents will be at game four, he's feeling a lot better by the time he's back behind the bench._ _

__Williams seems determined to make up for game three; even though there's a bit of a defensive breakdown, he stops every shot that he faces. They shut the Colts out 3-0, and it's much, much better that he and Mitch are meeting up with Gram and Grandpa after a win than a loss._ _

__When they get to the diner Gram hugs Dylan tight. She hangs on for a long time, and when she pulls back she cups Dylan's face in her hands. "Look at you," she says, beaming._ _

__Dylan's been a lot taller than her for years now, but that just means he's gotten pretty good at leaning in to hug her. He's got a weird center of gravity right now, but he's dealing with it. "Thanks for coming," he says into her hair._ _

__"Don't think we've forgotten about you, Mr. Marner," Gramps teases._ _

__Mitch freezes. He smiles shakily after a second, though, and sticks his hand out stiffly. "It's nice to meet you, sir."_ _

__Grandpa laughs heartily and uses Mitch's outstretched hand to tug him into a hug. "I'm Grandpa," he says. "Gramps if you want."_ _

__It's kind of adorable to see Mitch, of all people, unsure of what to say for once. Dylan smiles, and when he glances down, Gram is smiling too. "Let him go," she says after a minute. "Trade you."_ _

__Dylan just barely resists the urge to be a brat and take Mitch in the trade. He only manages because he's absolutely sure Gram and Grandpa would just smush-hug them both together, and that kind of sounds uncomfortable with the speck in the mix._ _

__Gram knows what he's thinking, though, and she swats him on the arm. "Don't you teach my great-grandbaby bad habits," she scolds, then beams at him._ _

__Dylan bites his lip, desperate not to cry in public for the second time today. He's allowed, after a win, but he doesn't want to become a meme. Grandpa grabs him and hugs him just in time, and Dylan can hide his face against Grandpa's shoulder and recover for a minute before he has to step back._ _

__"You're not mad?" Dylan asks, for like the fiftieth time. After what happened with his parents, he just likes to be sure._ _

__Grandpa grabs Dylan's biceps firmly and shakes him a tiny bit, like he's checking to make sure Dylan's paying attention. "We're not mad," he says. "You're an exceptional young man, Dylan. You're not taking the easiest path in life, but you're doing things your way, and we're very proud of you."_ _

__Gram puts an arm around his waist so he's smushed between them after all. "Who ever said life's supposed to be easy, anyhow?"_ _

__Dylan tries to laugh, but he's gonna fail at that not crying in public again thing. "Thanks," he manages. Mitch squeezes his way into the hug and Dylan latches onto him like a lifeline. "Thanks," he repeats to Mitch, who just smiles at him._ _

__"Hey, now that you're here," Mitch says to Dylan's grandparents, "maybe you can settle a debate for us."_ _

__"Marriage is about settling your own debates," Grandpa says, raising an eyebrow. "And it's a little early to be having _debates_ , isn't it? Do you boys need to talk?"_ _

__"Nothing like that," Mitch assures him. "I think we're having a girl, and Dylan's convinced it's a boy. Back me up here." He gives his most winning smile._ _

__Dylan elbows him in the ribs. "You're the worst. F-minus, would not husband again."_ _

__"Liar," Mitch singsongs, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Mitch leads them over to a booth, and scoots along so Dylan can sit on the outside. He's finally gotten used to Dylan having to get up for a million pee breaks, and just leaves space automatically._ _

__"This family has a long history of having boys," Gram says, settling in across from them. "And you have a brother, right?"_ _

__Mitch nods. "Yeah, so it's about time we had a girl around."_ _

__"I don't think it works that way," Gram says as their waitress brings them menus. "Plus, the person carrying tends to have intuition about these things. Sorry, honey, but I'm siding with Dylan on this."_ _

__"Well, we'll find out for sure in just over a week." Mitch squirms in his seat, like it's killing him to wait that long._ _

__"I'll be on team baby girl," Grandpa volunteers. "I think it'd be nice."_ _

__"Future draft pick of the Riveters," Mitch says proudly._ _

__"Or the Furies," Grandpa says, grinning._ _

__Dylan rolls his eyes. " _He_ can go wherever he wants."_ _

__"He might not even like hockey," Gram adds. There's a moment of silence, and then she laughs. "Okay, he'll probably at least like watching it."_ _

__Dylan snorts. "If he's like Mitch he'll be a demon in the ice before he even starts kindergarten." There's proof on video._ _

__"You were on skates about two days after you could walk, honey," Gram says, patting Dylan's hand. "Anything Ryan could do, you could do better."_ _

__"And you used to hide Matt's skates," Gramps adds._ _

__"He was too little," Dylan protests. "Ryan and I were shooting pucks around. I didn't want him to get hit."_ _

__Mitch leans forward and stage-whispers, "Dylan doesn't like sharing, just ask Connor."_ _

__"We don't have to ask anyone," Grandpa says, laughing. "We're well aware of that one."_ _

__"This is my life now," Dylan says hollowly, giving the menu a thousand-yard stare._ _

__"Oh, honey," Gram says sympathetically, reaching out to pat his hand. "In a few months, you'll have a kid, and trust me. Then you'll _really_ feel like the world's ganging up on you." His face must be making some sort of truly horrified expression, because she squeezes his hand. "And that's when you tell us all to back down, got it? We're here to help."_ _

__Dylan nods and swallows hard. They'll all be here when he has the baby, which is great, but he's also been living away from them for a long time. Connor's a genius for offering them space, and Mitch is a genius for insisting on taking him up on it._ _

__"Thanks," he says, turning his hand over so he can squeeze Gram's. He focuses back on his menu. "Enough feelings, okay? I'm like a water fountain lately, and I don't want to dehydrate."_ _

__"Hockey robot mode: engage," Mitch teases._ _

__"I will replace you with Brinksy," Dylan threatens. "You can sleep in his room with Betz."_ _

__Mitch beams at him. "No you won't," he replies, supremely confident. "I'm irreplaceable." He makes a kissy face, and Dylan throws a napkin at him._ _

__"Young love," Gram teases._ _

__Grandpa smiles as he takes her hand. "Reminds me of us," he says. "Except you're not as pretty as Vera, Mitch. Sorry."_ _

__Dylan's face blushes hot. If his belly wasn't in the way he'd slide under the table and die._ _

__"I'm sure not," Mitch says easily, grabbing Dylan's hand under the table and squeezing. "I think I'll take what I've got, though."_ _

__-0-_ _

__Team Canada has been kicking ass and taking names; Dylan isn't going to say anything out loud, but he's starting to wonder if they might repeat last year's miracle, winning gold without losing a single game. Then they run into Finland. Dylan grips Mitch's hand tight. "He gets one loss."_ _

__"Got it out of the way just in time," Mitch says. "No more losing. They gotta win from here on out."_ _

__Nuge texts Dylan a string of crying face emoji and asks for tips about handling Sad Connor._ _

___just make sure u tell him its not his fault _, Dylan tells him. _over n over n over.___ _ _

____Nuge's reply is full of thanks and exclamation points. Dylan grins at his phone, happy that Connor has someone who cares so much._ _ _ _

____They have to focus on the rest of the Barrie series after that. Getting three wins is great, but the fourth one is always the hardest to get._ _ _ _

____The butterflies in Dylan's stomach come back during game five. It's not a great game for either team; there are a ton of penalties and a ton of goals given up. The butterflies get worse the longer the game goes on, and by the time they drop the game 7-5, Dylan feels like he drank a liter of ginger ale and then did jumping jacks._ _ _ _

____Mitch catches him rubbing at his stomach as they're getting ready for bed. "Everything okay?"_ _ _ _

____"Feels like I ate something weird again," Dylan complains. "We should mention it to Dr. Weber on Monday. Maybe I'm getting some sort of pregnancy food aversion or something."_ _ _ _

____Mitch hugs him and pets his hair, which helps a lot more than Dylan wants to admit. "We can call him in the morning if it's still bugging you," he says. "I mean, I'm sure he can squeeze in seeing us tomorrow. We can go up to Barrie after."_ _ _ _

____Dylan frowns. "It's not bad, exactly. It doesn't hurt; it just feels weird."_ _ _ _

____"If it hurt, we'd be on our way to the ER," Mitch says. "Weird doesn't automatically mean bad, but if it keeps being weird, we should get it checked out, right?"_ _ _ _

____Dylan sighs, snuggling into Mitch's side. "Thanks."_ _ _ _

____"For what?"_ _ _ _

____"Not thinking I'm being stupid," Dylan replies._ _ _ _

____"Of course you're not," Mitch says immediately. "Who said that?"_ _ _ _

____"No-one, I just... I haven't done this before, and sometimes it feels like everyone knows more than I do." Dylan hides his face in Mitch's neck._ _ _ _

____Mitch hugs him closer. "You don't have to know everything, babe. We'll figure it out, right?"_ _ _ _

____"Right." God, Dylan's so glad Mitch is here. Playing hockey has made it pretty normal to just push through discomfort, so Dylan has a really hard time figuring out whether or not he's overreacting._ _ _ _

____"We'll call Dr. Weber first thing in the morning," Mitch promises. "Do you think you can sleep? If not, we'll call the emergency line."_ _ _ _

____Dylan shakes his head. "I'll be fine until tomorrow."_ _ _ _

____"Okay," Mitch says, and that's another thing Dylan's grateful for. Mitch trusts him on this. "Sleep well, babe."_ _ _ _

____Dylan curls up around him and manages to doze off for a couple of hours. He feels like he hasn't slept at all when Mitch's alarm wakes them up; he had a lot of weird dreams, and he's kind of glad he doesn't remember specifics once he blinks himself awake._ _ _ _

____Dylan lies there for a minute, waiting to see if the weird, fluttery feeling is going to come back. If it's fixed itself overnight he's going to feel stupid. He doesn't feel it, and he rubs his eyes and sighs. Well, pregnancy is weird, or whatever. He sits up so he can go to the bathroom and freezes._ _ _ _

____"What's wrong?" Mitch asks, sharp and worried._ _ _ _

____"I thought it went away," Dylan says despairingly, looking down at his stomach. "Spoiler alert: it started again when I moved."_ _ _ _

____Mitch reels him in for a hug. "It's okay. We'll talk to the doctor and everything will be fine, I promise."_ _ _ _

____Dylan nods, a little miserable. "Can you call? I want to shower."_ _ _ _

____"If you're sure you're not going to, like, pass out or something," Mitch replies, squeezing him tight._ _ _ _

____"Pretty sure," Dylan confirms. He feels fine, other than the rumbling feeling._ _ _ _

____Mitch hesitates. "Is it weird if I, like, hang out in the bathroom? Just in case?"_ _ _ _

____"Actually, that sounds really good," Dylan admits. He's hungry and thirsty and _exhausted_._ _ _ _

____"Okay," Mitch says, sounding relieved. "Let's get this show on the road."_ _ _ _

____The shower is totally incident-free, and when Dylan gets out, Mitch tells him that their appointment is in an hour. They've got just enough time to eat before they have to head out the door._ _ _ _

____Dylan clings to Mitch's hand in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Mitch doesn't say much, but he's clinging back just as tightly. It's early in the day, though, so they don't have to wait long._ _ _ _

____"Dylan," Dr. Weber says when they walk into the exam room. "And Mitch. Good to see you, gentlemen. I hear you've got some concerns?"_ _ _ _

____Dylan takes a deep breath. He feels better already, just being here. He's definitely glad Mitch suggested moving the appointment up; he can't imagine being behind the bench for another game or two while he was worrying. Dylan puts his hand over his stomach, which has decided to start swooping again now that he's sitting still. "I get these weird feelings, sometimes. I'm not nauseous, exactly, but I feel... I don't know. Just weird."_ _ _ _

____"Okay," Dr. Weber says, nodding. "Any pain?"_ _ _ _

____"I don't think so." Dylan's aware that he's a hockey player, though, and his threshold for pain isn't exactly average._ _ _ _

____"Okay," Dr. Weber says again. "Well, we can take a look. Twenty weeks is when we scan for anything that might be going on, so we'd be doing this anyway." He motions to the exam table. "Hop up and let's see what's happening."_ _ _ _

____Dylan gets up on the table and pulls his pants down so they're not covering the bump, then lays back. His stomach starts roiling right on cue, and he grimaces before Dr. Weber even touches him._ _ _ _

____"It's doing the thing," he says at Dr. Weber's glance. "It doesn't hurt, it's just weird."_ _ _ _

____"Well, let's see what we can find out," Dr. Weber says evenly. He spreads warm gel on Dylan's stomach and presses down with the ultrasound wand, the screen turned so Dylan can't see it._ _ _ _

____He moves the wand around for a while, studying the screen as he goes. Mitch comes over to take Dylan's hand after a minute, and Dylan's grateful that he's right there._ _ _ _

____"Well, I have a theory," Dr. Weber says, pressing down slightly harder with the wand._ _ _ _

____The fluttering gets stronger. "What was that?" Dylan asks._ _ _ _

____Dr. Weber laughs. "That was the baby."_ _ _ _

____Mitch catches on before Dylan does. "Wait. It's—the baby's moving? And Dylan can feel it?"_ _ _ _

____"So it seems. I'm sorry, I should've mentioned it at your last appointment," Dr. Weber replies. "In a carrier's first pregnancy, they usually don't feel movement until the later end of the range, but between 16 and 24 weeks is perfectly normal."_ _ _ _

____"He's moving," Dylan repeats, shocked. "Mitch."_ _ _ _

____Mitch squeezes Dylan's hand; his eyes are suspiciously bright._ _ _ _

____"Have you decided whether you want to know the sex?" Dr. Weber asks as he keeps studying Dylan's insides._ _ _ _

____"Definitely," Dylan says, just as Mitch says, "Yeah, please."_ _ _ _

____"Sorry, Dylan, you lose this bet. It's a little girl."_ _ _ _

____"A girl," Mitch chokes out. Dylan can't even manage that much; he's trying not to start crying as Dr. Weber swings the monitor around to show them. Dylan's not even sure what he'll _do_ with a little girl, but he can't wait to find out._ _ _ _

____He tunes out when Dr. Weber turns the screen back around to do the rest of the scan. Mitch squeezes his hand, and when Dylan looks over, he's kind of glad to see that Mitch is almost crying too._ _ _ _

____"Baby girl," Mitch whispers, and Dylan spends the rest of the appointment smiling at his husband and repeating those words._ _ _ _


	20. Chapter 20

Dylan texts Coach once they get on the road, just to let him know that everything's fine and that they're on their way.

Brinksy's waiting outside the rink when they get there, in full practice gear except for his skates. "Are you okay?" he demands. "Is Speck okay? What's going on?"

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Can I at least finish getting out of the car?"

"No," Brinksy says. "No, dude. Tell me everything's okay first." He sounds a little panicky under all the Brinsky-ness.

"It's fine," Dylan assures him. "Everything's great. We had the anatomy scan and the speck got the all clear. I was just freaking out because I didn't know she was already moving around like crazy."

Brinksy takes a deep breath, and his shoulders drop a little. "Thank fuck. I just—christ, Dylan. Can you text me or something if it happens again? All I got was Coach saying you had to move your baby appointment up, but he wouldn't tell us why."

Dylan wriggles out of the car and stands up to give him a hug. "Sorry, Brinks; I'll get Mitch to put you in the phone tree."

"Thanks," Brinksy mutters, pressing his face into Dylan's shoulder for a moment. Then he wrenches back and looks up at Dylan, eyes narrowed. "Wait a fucking second. Did you say _she_?"

Dylan grimaces. "I was kinda hoping you'd miss that. Davo's going to kill me if he finds out he wasn't the first to know after Mitch."

"Oh my god," Brinksy whoops, tearing himself away from Dylan so he can punch a fist into the air. "Baby girl!"

"Shut up," Dylan groans. "Seriously, Brinks. You knew first, congrats, but don't tell the team."

Brinksy makes an exaggerated zipping motion over his mouth, but he's pretty much glowing. Dylan probably won't have to tell anyone else that things are fine; all they need to do is look at Brinksy's face.

"C'mon, let's get inside," Mitch says. At some point he'd gotten out of the car, and he's got Dylan's playbook in his hand. "Gotta meet with Coach and get you guys ready to kick the shit out of Barrie tomorrow."

Brinsky rolls his eyes. "You're not the boss of me." But he goes ahead, and holds the door for Dylan.

Brinksy and Mitch form the world's smallest bodyguard team in front of him as they walk as a unit into the locker room. Dylan's grateful for it anyway; the guys go dead silent when he walks in.

"Hey guys. Sorry I'm late. Guess Coach'll have to scratch me," Dylan jokes.

"Are you," someone in the back starts.

Dylan holds up a hand. "I'm fine, Speck is fine. As it turns out, he's just really into somersaults, and his new exercise program feels weird when you're the gym."

Darren snorts loudly. "What did you expect? You're having a hockey baby."

"Wait," Taylor says. "The baby's moving? Can we feel it?"

"Nope, I'm the only lucky one." There's a chorus of groans and mutterings of "that's not fair" from around the locker room, and Dylan snorts. "Give it a little while, guys. I haven't even been feeling it for that long."

"Besides, I get first dibs," Mitch adds. "Dad privilege."

That gets them a round of boos, which is when Coach walks into the room. He raises an eyebrow at Dylan, who shrugs. 

"Sounds like everyone's ready to skate," he says. "Let's get out there, boys. Make this our last practice of the series."

Practice is kind of a mess, but Dylan's not worried; the guys all seem to be really loose, and it's always better to have a bad practice instead of a bad game. They spend a while going over tape in the afternoon, and then they have the following morning off to de-stress before they have to get ready for game six.

Dylan's tired, but not bone-deep exhausted like he was in the first trimester. He's still happy he's chosen a profession with built-in naps, though. He wakes up feeling pretty refreshed, all told, and they get ready to head to the arena together. He hands Mitch the car keys, rolling his eyes when Mitch bounces on his toes like Dylan just gave him Leafs Stanley Cup finals tickets.

"If you're not careful I'll get used to you doing _everything_ ," Dylan warns.

"Good," Mitch says, bouncing up on his toes to brush a kiss against Dylan's cheek. "Let's go kick the other kids' butts."

They do, in fact, kick the other kids' butts. It's clear after the first period that Barrie's not on their game, and it goes downhill hard for them after that. They try their best to make a comeback in the third, but the Otters hold them off. Dylan yells and throws his arms in the air when the final buzzer goes off; everyone exits the bench to swarm around Williams, but Brinksy throws his arms around Dylan before he goes.

"You're the best," he yells, and then he's over the boards and skating away.

Dylan tries not to tear up, but he knows it's a losing battle. By the time they walk the J. Ross Robertson Trophy out onto the ice, he's kind of a teary mess, and when they bring extra carpeting out to make him a path from the bench to where the trophy is sitting, well, he has to take a minute.

Marchy and Williams flank him as he steps onto the ice. He feels a little ridiculous between them, especially since Williams is still in all his goalie pads. He's grinning hugely, though, so Dylan takes the arm he offers and walks carefully out to accept the trophy.

Brinksy frowns when Dylan goes to lift the trophy. "Are you sure it's not too heavy?"

"My arms still work," Dylan points out. "If you're that worried, though, you can stand it in front of me so it's got a nice squishy landing spot if I do drop it."

Dylan's shirt pulls tight over his stomach when he raises the trophy, and Brinky's expression goes soft. That doesn't stop him from making everyone pose around Dylan like they're all about to dive for the trophy, though.

-0-

The second-greatest thing about beating Barrie in six is that it means that they can watch the Canada-Finland game live. The team was going to head back to Erie on Sunday morning, but they get permission to stay in Barrie an extra day so they don't miss it. Half the team crowds into Dylan's room for a viewing party. He sort of expects Mitch to get snarly and territorial, but he's surprisingly chill. Mitch sits back against the headboard and pulls Dylan into his lap, leaving Brinksy to direct traffic around them.

Brinksy does so with a ruthless sort of efficiency; he very unceremoniously shoves Betzy off the end of the bed when he doesn't give Dylan's feet enough space, or something.

Williams shows up with his arms full of snacks just as the pre-show starts. It's a great way to unwind, honestly. The guys are still riding the high of the win yesterday, and they get to watch Connor work his magic at the gold medal game, and since it's not against the US, there are fewer people with torn loyalties.

The whole room erupts in cheers when a clip of Connor shows up on the screen. Someone yells "Get it, Davo!"

"That would make sugar pie so sad," Mitch says, quiet enough that only Dylan can hear him.

Dylan snorts. "Sugar pie's on his own for this one."

Mitch pulls his phone from... somewhere, Dylan's not really sure, and waves it in Dylan's direction. "I'm telling him you're abandoning him in his time of need."

"Hey, it's not my fault the Otters are more loyal than the Oilers!" Dylan protests.

"Telling," Mitch singsongs. "No more cookie love for you."

"Oh my god, I was going to tell them to get a room, but we're _in their room_ ," Betzy says from the floor, voice horrified.

Brinksy starts laughing. "You have no idea. Now shh."

They all shut up pretty quickly when the puck finally drops. It's an intense game to watch, and Dylan knows he's not the only one paying close attention.

Canada takes control early and it stays that way through the first period. Connor does what he does best: muscling his way onto the puck and then tearing up the ice. Finland can't match his speed; hardly anyone in the world can. Connor's been having a good tournament, but Dylan knows he's been frustrated with his inability to put the puck in the net. Dylan's so happy he tears up when Connor breaks that streak to put Canada up 1-0 halfway through the first.

The whole room erupts, and Taylor ends up on the floor at the bottom of a celly pile. Dylan's pretty sure all the yelling is happy yelling, so he just grins and hides his face in Mitch's sleeve until he can get a little control over his tear ducts.

Laine tries his hardest to tie the game up, but Talbot is too good.

"Canada's D is the best," Taylor yells, and right on cue the team dissolve into giggles.

The second period is intense but scoreless, and the third is the same. It's fast-paced, brilliant hockey all around, which is why Dylan's sure everyone's holding their breath when Finland pulls their goalie with a minute left in the game. Time ticks down, and Dylan grips Mitch's hand so tight it must hurt. The Finns keep possession, and they fire so many shots at Talbot that Dylan's a little afraid to look, except for how he can't look away.

"Come on, come the fuck on," he mutters under his breath as Duchene snags the puck.

There's almost no time left; Duchene crosses the blue line, and it doesn't even matter that he shoots the puck, because even if he turns it over there's not enough time for the Finns to skate it back. It goes in, but everyone's yelling so loud Dylan doesn't even hear a goal horn or anything. Team Canada jump over the boards, but when Dylan checks the time there's still just under a second to go. It's definitely all over but the crying, though, and once they manage to drop the puck one more time the celebration picks right back up.

"Davo got the fucking gold medal winning goal," someone yells, and that's when Dylan bursts into happy tears.

"He fucking did it," Mitch says. He sounds like he's close to bawling too. "Three international gold medals."

Brinksy punches the air. "Watch out, Olympics! Davo's coming for you."

"You're American," Williams reminds him.

"It's _Davo_ ," Brinksy points out. "I don't want to be the one trying to stop him."

Dylan just cries quietly, and tries not to get snot all over Mitch.

Mitch's phone starts buzzing, and he laughs when he swipes to see. "Look, babe," he says, nudging Dylan until he can see the phone. "Nutter Butter's beside himself." There's a photo of what Dylan thinks is the wall in Nuge's BC apartment, followed by an incomprehensible string of emojis. As Dylan watches, Nuge sends a caterpillar, a bomb, and a flag that Dylan can't even begin to place.

There's a pause in the flurry of texts, and then a photo comes through of Nuge lying on the sofa grinning at the ceiling. He has his hand in a brace, but that hasn't stopped him from putting somebody in a headlock. It's captioned _Greetings from Burnaby_ , so Dylan suspects Nuge's brother took the picture.

"I'm making that his contact photo," Mitch says, sounding satisfied. "Want me to send it to you?"

"Yes, definitely." Dylan squints at the screen. "Who do you think he tackled?"

"That's a brother headlock," Mitch says, showing Dylan his phone again. "Come on, you know what that looks like. From both angles."

Another pic comes through: Nuge is mashed into the back of the sofa, and Jordan Eberle is sitting on him looking incredibly smug. Dylan snorts. "I guess the Oilers are kind of like brothers."

"Someone had to take the picture," Mitch points out.

Dylan props his chin on his hand. "Do you think Nutter Butter's parents are just out of frame?"

"We can ask," Mitch says. He types out _who stole nuges phone???_ and sends it.

The reply comes quickly. _hi i'm adam. who's marnsmallow?_

"Oh my god," Mitch says gleefully. "Are you in his phone as _marshmalllow_? That's precious."

"I think we should leave," Williams says, which is when Dylan's abruptly reminded that they're not alone. "This is getting weird."

"Yeah, when the goalie thinks it's weird, it's time to bail," Brinksy says, standing up. "C'mon, everybody, let's be elsewhere."

Dylan pokes him in the side. "That's _your_ phone, babe."

" _Marns_ -mallow," Mitch says, reading it again. "I'm leaving you, Dyls. Sorry, I love you, but I have to marry that."

The team leaves the room in a hurry, Brinksy loudly proclaiming how they shouldn't worry, he's going to protect their delicate sensibilities from Mean Old Marner. "You're never getting rid of that nickname," Dylan says as the door shuts behind the last of his teammates. "In case you were wondering."

Mitch grins. "I've had worse. And in case you hadn't noticed, we're all alone right now."

"We should FaceTime Davo and congratulate him," Dylan says. He waits for the face Mitch makes, then adds, "In, like, twenty minutes. Half an hour. Definitely after the medal ceremony. How will we pass the time?"

Mitch puts his phone down and reaches for Dylan's hips. "I'm sure we'll think of something."

-0-

Dylan definitely doesn't bother putting a shirt back on before they FaceTime Connor. He's seen worse, and anyway, he's in the Team Canada locker room; everyone's seen the Giroux photos.

"Dylan! Oh my god, look at you!" Connor says when he answers. He's almost cooing; Dylan suspects booze is responsible.

"How are you drunk already?" Dylan wonders, laughing. "You were still on TV like ten minutes ago."

Connor shrugs. "Talent?"

"You won gold for Canada and your niece," Mitch says, leaning into Dylan's side. "I guess you're allowed to be drunk."

"Nephew," Connor corrects automatically. "I'm on Team Dylan."

Dylan sighs as noisily as he can. "Uh, actually..."

"No fucking way!" Connor exclaims. His phone shakes, and then Taylor Hall's face comes into view.

"What did you just say to my boy?"

"It's a girl," Mitch says, beaming at Dylan's phone.

"No way!" Hall beams and wraps an arm around Connor. "You're going to be an aunt!"

"A baby girl," Connor says, and his eyes are suspiciously shiny. "Oh my god, it's a girl!"

Dylan stares at the two of them. "Uh, Hallsy, that's not really how this works."

"A girl!" he bellows, pulling away from Connor and leaning out of frame. his voice sounds farther away but no less loud when he repeats it. "It's a girl!"

"They're so drunk," Mitch says, awed.

"Uh. Congratulations?" someone says off-camera, clearly very confused.

Connor bursts into tears.

"Whoa. Come here, Davo." Hallsy is replaced by someone else, and Connor buries his face in their shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Connor sobs. "It's a girl, Dutchy. It's gonna be a little tiny baby girl."

Someone has the presence of mind to take Connor's phone, and the image resolves from a blurry close-up into actual video of Connor clutching Matt Duchene like a teddy bear. "That's great," Duchene says, his voice soft. Then he mouths _What the fuck?_ at the camera.

"This is definitely not Nuge," whoever's holding the camera says. "But he is for sure super preggo. Uh. Congrats, bro?" The camera switches around so it's facing the person holding the phone, and Brendan Gallagher's smile fills up the screen. "But, like. I'm pretty sure Davo's not dating you, so..."

Dylan laughs. "I'm not dating anyone. I'm married to this guy." He pulls Mitch into frame.

"Talbo," Dutchy says from off-camera. "Any idea what the hell's wrong with McDaddy?"

Gallagher's face does a thing that Dylan can't even begin to describe, and then he smiles so sunnily that it's almost painful to watch. "Oh! Hey! You're the dudes from Sportsnet. Davo's friends." The phone wobbles as he puts it down. "Dutchy, it's a friendbaby, not a McBaby!"

"Thank fuck for that," someone else replies, and then the phone tilts crazily as it's picked up again. "Hi, friends of Davo. Congratulations."

"Hi, Team Canada," Mitch says. "Who are we talking to?"

"I'm Morgan," the camera guy says, turning the phone around. "And you're Mitch Marner."

"Uh," Mitch says, blinking at the camera. "Yes! Hi." He looks at Dylan. "He's on the Leafs."

Dylan stifles a laugh.

"Riles, stop hogging the camera." Another scuffle makes the camera tilt, and Dylan's really glad nausea hasn't been a major feature of his pregnancy.

Mitch's face breaks into a delighted smile. "Domi! Domi, guess what, it's a girl!"

"Awesome!" Domi beams, and for a moment Dylan wonders if having a smile like that is part of the Knights' draft criteria.

"It's a girl!" Hallsy yells again, somewhere in the background.

"He's kissing people," Domi narrates.

Dylan snorts. "He should probably not be doing that." Hallsy gets points for enthusiasm, though.

"Who else is there?" Mitch asks Domi. "Who else is sober?"

That makes Domi laugh. "Those are two very different questions," he says, glancing away from the phone. "Reins is mostly sober, I think. Everyone else is probably a lost cause."

Dylan shakes his head. "Tell Connor to drink some water."

"I mean, I'll try," Domi says doubtfully.

"Congrats on the gold," Dylan adds. "Canada: fuck yeah."

"Fuck yeah!" someone shouts in the background.

"Good luck in Red Deer," Domi replies, scrunching up his face like he just bit into a lemon. "If the Knights couldn't win it at least it'll stay in the O."

"Thanks," Dylan says. "As long as we don't lose to Rouyn-Noranda, right?"

"Screw the Q," Domi agrees. Someone nearby starts giggling at the rhyme. "And, like, don't actually lose to Red Deer. Or the Wheaties."

Dylan rests a hand on his stomach. "I'll see what we can do."

"That's fucking adorable," Domi says. "Put that away. I'm gonna be sick from all the cute."

Mitch flips him the bird. "Go make sure Connor doesn't drown in a sink."

"Nah, Dutchy's got him," Domi says easily. "But seriously, congrats. We're gonna celebrate some more here, so I'm gonna let you go."

Domi ends the call, and Dylan finds himself a little sad they won't get to play together on the Yotes. Maybe a future Team Canada thing, though. That'd be cool.

Mitch kisses him on the cheek. "What's with the face?"

"Just thinking about how things are different now," Dylan replies.

"Yeah," Mitch says, resting his head on Dylan's shoulder. "We know it's a girl for sure. That's different."

"I'm not sorry we won, but I'm sorry you're not going to the Cup finals," Dylan confesses. He's been wondering lately if it's partly his fault—if Mitch was distracted by the _off-ice issues_ that made the Yotes trade Dylan.

Mitch shrugs a little. "I mean, me too? But I'm okay with it, babe. If it's not us, then it should absolutely be you." Then he pulls back, grinning. 

Dylan knows that look; it means trouble.

"Also, I won the Dad Sweepstakes," he says, putting his hand on Dylan's stomach.

Dylan tears up at the D-word, but Mitch looks so unbearably smug that Dylan has to face wash him instead of hugging him.

"You still love me," Mitch says, laughing when Dylan shoves a pillow at his face.

"I mean, obviously," Dylan huffs.

Mitch flops down on the bed and drags Dylan with him. "Hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"It's a girl." Mitch's voice is soft and reverent, the polar opposite of Connor's explosion of feelings.

"It's a girl," Dylan echoes, reaching down to grab Mitch's hand. He brings it up to his stomach and they both hold on.

-0-

Telling their families the next day is less hilariously chaotic than telling Connor had been, but it's not any less enthusiastically loud. Dylan's glad they're in the back of the restaurant; it means fewer people stare at them when Dylan's mom flips over the new ultrasound photo, reads the "say hi to your granddaughter!" that Dylan had scrawled there, and bursts into tears. Ryan and Matt look like they're about to do the same thing.

"A girl?" Mr. Marner asks. There's a huge grin on his face as he gazes at the photo he's holding. "That's... wow. A little girl."

Chris grabs Mitch in a bear hug. "A girl," he yells into Mitch's shoulder. It's muffled, but it's definitely still loud enough to hear.

"This doesn't mean we want an all-pink baby shower," Dylan says, giving Matt the Eyebrow.

"Please no," Mitch adds. "We'd rather have gender-neutral stuff. At least until she's old enough to ask for pink stuff."

Ryan grins and gets Matt in a headlock. "Don't worry, I'll keep him in line."

"That's kind of what I'm worried about," Dylan mutters, and Mitch grins.

"So we won't put that it's a girl on the shower invitations," Mrs. Marner says. "If people don't know, they'll default to neutral stuff." Mitch's mom is a genius, Dylan's sure of this.

"If we use wedding-themed invitations and just write that it's also a baby shower on the bottom, we won't even have to worry about it," Dylan's mom suggests. 

"We were thinking mid-July," Mitch's mom confides to the table at large. Dylan's mom nods in confirmation.

"It's short notice, but we'll figure it out," Dylan's mom adds.

Dylan turns to Mitch, horrified. Their moms are finishing each other's sentences.

"Sounds good," Mitch replies, smiling at their moms. Dylan's glad one of them is happy about the mom-meld. He's very glad when their food shows up and he can hide behind a stack of pancakes.

Dylan's glad to get a full day off; it's been good to catch up with their families, and sleeping in a queen-sized bed with Mitch instead of both of them cramming into a twin at Dylan's billet house sounds more appealing than he could describe. It's great having his brothers back, too; last summer Dylan was way too busy with lead-up to the draft to spend much time with Ryan and Matt. Tomorrow's going to be spent visiting a bunch of doctors so they can determine who they want to see in Toronto, but today's been nice and stress-free.

"We've got three appointments," Mitch says as they get into bed that night. "But the first one isn't until ten, so we can sleep in a little."

"Mmmm, sleep." Dylan takes Mitch's hand and places it on his stomach. "Think she'll get with the program?"

"Is she moving?" Mitch asks, pressing the tiniest bit, like if he tries hard enough he'll be able to feel her, too.

Dylan shakes his head. "Not right now, but give her a minute. She gets pissy when I sit still."

"Oh man, I hope she's not one of those babies that always wants to be moving around," Mitch says. "We need one of those baby swing things. Just in case."

"We need _so_ much stuff," Dylan agrees. He's actually really glad they're having a baby shower.

"We should do one of those, like, baby registry things," Mitch says. "You can do that online, right? Make a giant wish list of baby stuff? We can give that to the Mom Squad to put in the invites."

Dylan rolls onto his side and stares at Mitch. He's pretty sure he has hearts in his eyes. "Yes! Thank you. You're a genius."

Mitch smiles at him. "Tomorrow," he says. "It'll give us something to do in waiting rooms."

"Sounds good," Dylan says, snuggling up. "Speck seems to be sleeping. I'm gonna take this opportunity to join her."

Mitch sighs, soft and happy, and kisses Dylan on the forehead. "Goodnight, you two."

Dylan falls asleep smiling, and manages to sleep pretty well.

The first doctor they go to in the morning is weird. His hands are cold but he doesn't seem to notice. He's also way more interested in looking at Dylan's record than he is in answering any of their questions. Dylan scratches him off their list with extreme prejudice.

The next doctor keeps them waiting for almost an hour. At least they manage to make some progress on the baby registry, but Dylan's thoroughly sick of it when he has to go to the bathroom for the third time and they still haven't been called. He's friendly enough when they make it into the exam room, but Dylan can't help but feel like they're being rushed out the door. He brings up Mitch's summer schedule, and the doctor's face freezes in a terrifying smile. His "we'll do our best to work with you" isn't convincing at all. 

Dylan's really hoping they saved the best doctor for last, because right now he's considering just driving back to see Dr. Weber every month.

They take a break for lunch, and things are feeling slightly less grim when they arrive at the third appointment. The waiting room is pretty cheery, and it's super gender-neutral, which Dylan appreciates. They're only in the waiting room for five minutes, tops, before a nurse calls them into the back and helps them do all the intake paperwork in private. There's an extra page for gender presentation and pronouns, and Dylan has to blink back tears. Amazon's started recommending books now that he's working on the baby registry, but they all have Mommy splashed across the cover. Mitch slides his arm around Dylan's waist and side-hugs him while the nurse finishes up and tells them that the doctor will be in shortly.

"I have a good feeling about this place," Dylan says, hiding his face against Mitch's shoulder.

"Me too," Mitch murmurs into his hair.

Dylan pulls back when the doctor comes in. "Hi," she says with a friendly smile. Dylan tries not to stare, but the woman is barely over five feet tall, and her curly hair is probably padding Dylan's estimation by a few inches. Mitch gets up, and holds out a hand for Dylan to help him get to his feet.

"Mr. Strome and Mr. Marner, right?" she says, holding her hand out for them to shake. "I'm Dr. Hewitt."

"Nice to meet you." Mitch shakes her hand and delivers his megawatt smile.

Dylan shakes her hand, too, then blurts out, "Uh, thanks for the intake form thing. That's... I'm not a mom."

"You're welcome," Dr. Hewitt says. "I like to get to know my patients, so they can receive the care they need."

"Nobody's bothered asking," Dylan says. "Nobody's said anything to me, but..."

Mitch slips an arm around his waist again, hugging him close.

"You're always worried people are going to assume," Dr. Hewitt says gently. "I do my best to not assume anything about my patients, Mr. Strome."

"We brought notes from his doctor in Pennsylvania," Mitch says, "and we have questions."

"Good, that's good," she says, taking the file that Mitch hands over. "I'd like to look through this quickly, if you don't mind, and then I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have."

They all sit down, and Dylan grabs for Mitch's hand like a lifeline. Dr. Hewitt takes a few minutes to read through Dylan's file, and true to her word, spends nearly half an hour answering their questions and asking some of her own. She's very interested in Dylan's support network, and how things are going to work once Mitch's schedule picks up again. The idea of a rotating cast of characters at appointments doesn't appear to put her off, which is a huge plus.

Dylan feels himself relax as they talk. Dr. Hewitt talks to both of them and doesn't talk down to them, even though they're both young and clearly have no idea what they're doing. When they get up to leave, Dylan's pretty confident he doesn't need to see any more doctors.

"I understand you're visiting several doctors in the area," Dr. Hewitt says as she shakes their hands again. "If you choose not to go with our office, I understand, and I'd be happy to offer a few names of other doctors in the area who I know to be good about respecting gender identity in expectant parents."

Dylan squeezes Mitch's hand so he won't cry.

"Thanks," Mitch answers for them. "Thank you so much, Dr. Hewitt."

"You're welcome," she says warmly. "If I don't see you again, good luck."

Dylan manages a smile and a nod, but that's all he's feeling capable of at the moment.

They make it out to the car, and Dylan takes a huge breath once they're buckled in. "I don't want to visit any other doctors. She's the one."

"Okay," Mitch says easily. Apparently his dadzilla tendencies don't extend to second guessing Dylan, which is awesome.

"Okay," Dylan repeats. "She was good, right? Like, not just the best person we saw today. She was actually good."

"She was great," Mitch agrees. "She got you to talk about stuff even I didn't know about."

Dylan reaches for his hand again. "Sorry. Not on purpose."

"It's okay. I'm not inside your head." Mitch leans across and kisses him, soft and chaste.

"I love you," Dylan mumbles. "Let's go home."

-0-

The drive back down to Erie is kind of weird. They're roads Dylan knows as well as the ones around his house, and it's strange to think this is probably the last time he's going to travel them like this. Mitch doesn't say anything when Dylan turns on the radio, flipping through stations every thirty seconds. He does reach out and offer his hand when Dylan finally gives up and leans back in his seat, though.

"Everything's changing," Dylan says quietly. Mitch probably realised that a while ago, hence his freakout.

"Change can be pretty good," Mitch says, squeezing his hand.

Dylan nods, because yeah, change can be very good. But it can also be Connor leaving him behind and Dylan trying his hardest to be happy for him. He knows that this is different, but it's still hitting him kind of hard. Dylan's had some of the best times in his career while living at the Murphys' house, and he found out about the baby there. It's going to be hard to leave.

Somehow, despite overflowing with feelings, Dylan manages to fall asleep for at least part of the drive. He's grateful for it when they get to the Murphys'. Most of his stuff is packed up, but getting it from his room to the car is going to wipe him out, and he's still got a few things to put in boxes.

Mitch gives him a Look when Dylan tries to pick up one of the boxes, and shoos him out of his own room. "You must be starving, babe. Go have a snack."

"I can lift a box," Dylan grumbles, but unfortunately, Mitch is right. He's pretty hungry, so he heads for the kitchen.

Mrs. Murphy's sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, and she gets up to give him a hug when he comes in. "How are you doing?"

"Pretty good," Dylan says, trying not to curl into her completely. "We found a doctor in Toronto."

"Wow, that was fast," Mrs. Murphy comments. "But then, I shouldn't be surprised by how quickly you two get things done when you set your minds to it."

"We had the time, and we wanted to make sure we had someone in place before we left for Red Deer," Dylan says, shrugging. And Mitch outsourced like a boss. "Plus, while we're here, we're going to stop by Dr. Weber's and have his office forward all of the stuff up to Dr. Hewitt."

Mrs. Murphy believes in him enough to let him put together his own damn snack, and Dylan soaks in the brief moment without hovering.

"Do you have the newest photo?" Mrs. Murphy asks when Dylan sits back down. "I haven't seen it yet."

Dylan grins. "I got you a copy to keep. She's starting to look pretty cute."

Mrs. Murphy smiles widely as he hands the photo over. "Oh, Dylan. It's a girl?"

"Yeah, Mitch was right. And he's never going to let me hear the end of it," Dylan jokes.

"Probably not," Mrs. Murphy says, smiling down at the photo. "She's beautiful, honey."

Dylan tears up, just a little. It's sad to think the Murphys won't get to see her, or hold her, unless they travel for miles. "Thanks," he manages, taking a bite of his sandwich to give himself a minute.

"I'm going to put this on the fridge," Mrs. Murphy announces, standing up to grab a magnet. She puts it right on front, next to Mr. Murphy's work schedule.

Dylan gets through his food without blubbering everywhere, somehow. It's pretty much a miracle.

Mitch comes in just as he's putting his plate in the dishwasher. "Hi," he says, giving Mrs. Murphy a hug before turning to Dylan. "Babe, we got everything in the car, but I figured you'd want to take a look around to make sure we didn't forget anything."

"Oh, are you sure I won't sprain my eyes?" Dylan teases.

"No," Mitch says very seriously. "I'm gonna supervise, just in case."

Dylan pokes him in the ribs.

Mrs. Murphy laughs. "Are you boys coming back to stay the night?"

"Yeah, you're stuck with me for a little longer." Dylan's voice cracks a little, but nobody calls him on it.

"Okay," Mrs. Murphy says, smiling at him. "We'll see you both later, then."

"Take care of that little girl," Mr. Murphy says, giving Dylan a hug.

Dylan has to bite his lip and nod, or he's gonna start crying.

"That's the plan," Mitch replies, sunshine smile permanently stuck to his face.

"Good," Mr. Murphy says. He lets go of Dylan to reel Mitch in.

Dylan pretends to be far too busy checking his phone to rescue Mitch. He waves his phone around when Mitch finally makes his escape. "A few of the guys want to meet up at the rink," he says. "You up for it?"

"Sure, whatever you want." Mitch takes Dylan's hand and tugs him towards the door.

The car is packed pretty tightly; there's still enough room for the two of them, but Dylan's glad that he hadn't had all that much stuff left in Erie.

Dylan holds his hand out for the keys, and Mitch hands them over with only slight hesitation. "Aww, you _can_ be taught," Dylan teases. Mitch pouts outrageously, and Dylan leans in to kiss him quickly.

They get into a half-hearted hand slapping fight over the radio, just because Dylan feels like being a brat. Mitch doesn't let him win, which Dylan kind of wants to kiss him again for. He can't help smiling when Mitch sings along, badly, to One Direction.

It's not a long drive, so they're thankfully both saved from Mitch having to sing whatever came on next. Dylan's a little afraid it would have been Lady Gaga; no way would Mitch get out of the car until he got all the way through Poker Face.

Brinksy's waiting for them outside, again, practically bouncing on his toes. Again. "Can we tell the team now?" he blurts out as soon as Dylan opens his door.

"You'd think he was one of the dads in this equation," Mitch remarks.

Brinksy flips him off and turns pleading eyes to Dylan. "Please?"

"Holy shit, he learned a manner!" Dylan says. "We should reward him for it, shouldn't we?"

Mitch nods. "Positive reinforcement. It's the best way to train your puppy."

"Kitten," Dylan corrects. He grins at Brinksy. "Go for it, Brinks."

Brinksy throws his hands in the air and cheers. Then he turns and runs full tilt into the rink, yelling something incomprehensible the whole way in.

Dylan snorts. "I'm not sure he's ready for the power we gave him."

"I'm pretty sure it's too late to take it back," Mitch says. "Shall we?"

Dylan takes Mitch's hand. "Let's do this."

They walk into the locker room, and everyone immediately starts whooping and cheering. Brinksy's grinning like he just won the lottery. "Thanks, assholes," Dylan says as they get showered with rainbow confetti.

"You're welcome," Taylor shouts. He's holding something wrapped in his hands, and he shoves it at Dylan. "We did a thing."

"Inspiring," Dylan says dryly as he takes the package. "Is it gonna bite me?"

Darren blinks at him innocently. "That'd be telling, Stromer. You have to open it."

Dylan manages to bite back his grin as he pulls at the wrapping paper. He drops it to the floor as he shakes out one of his own jerseys. "Uh, guys, I have like ten of these."

"No," Brinksy says impatiently. "It's, look." He grabs it and holds it up to himself. "We got the equipment people to make one that'll fit you now." He smiles at Dylan. "So we can all skate as Otters before Red Deer."

Dylan instantly tears up, and Mitch steps up to take his hand. "What, no love for me?" he asks, clearly trying to make Dylan laugh.

Brinksy's expression goes totally gleeful. "We didn't forget you," he says sweetly. It must be some sort of signal, because Williams chucks something at Mitch. It's an Otters jersey, but there's no number on the back, and instead of _Marner_ it says _Worse Half_.

"I'm hurt," Mitch says, pouting. "Our baby could've been conceived _right here_ and this is how you repay me?"

"Oh my god, _what_ ," Brinksy yelps. "You _did not_ fuck in the locker room."

Dylan refuses to confirm or deny. "I got knocked up at World Juniors."

"That's not a no," Williams says suspiciously.

"Let's hit the ice." Dylan sits down and raises an eyebrow at Mitch. "Lace me up?"

"No," Taylor all but shouts, elbowing Mitch out of the way and dropping to the floor. "Nobody needs to see you between his legs right now, oh my god."

Mitch starts laughing so hard he has to sit down.

"Fucking get dressed," Brinksy grumbles. "I'm going to have nightmares. I hope you're happy."

"Thrilled." Dylan leans back and lets himself be pampered. Life is good, sometimes.


	21. Chapter 21

Dylan's so glad that they get to fly to Red Deer instead of driving. He's not sure he won't be sick on the plane, but he can't even fathom being in a car for that long.

Mitch double- and triple-checks every bit of information he can find about flying while pregnant. "It's safe," he assures Dylan yet again as they're boarding. "It's totally safe at this point."

Dylan facewashes him. "We're just going to pretend I'm the one who was worried?"

"I was worried," Darren pipes up from behind Dylan. "He was telling me. Right, Marns?"

"Maybe _Marns_ should sit with his new best friend," Dylan teases.

"Marns is sitting with his husband, thanks," Mitch says. "Aisle or window, Dyls?"

"Window," Dylan says firmly. He needs room to stretch out his legs without worrying about tripping people in the aisle.

"Works for me," Mitch says. They slide into their seats and Dylan does his best to get comfortable. He can hardly wait until he's allowed to recline his seat.

"So Davo's going to BC while we're in Red Deer," Dylan says. "Meeting the parents. And the brother."

Mitch's eyes go wide. "I know! It's so cute."

"They're so cute it's a little gross," Dylan says. He's so happy for them.

"People say that about us, too," Mitch says, smiling at him.

Dylan can't help but smile back. "I know."

Brinksy chooses that moment to walk by. He makes a face at them. "Gross."

Dylan responds by kissing Mitch, slipping him a lot of tongue. Mitch groans loudly and slides his hands up the back of Dylan's shirt, exposing a lot of skin.

"I hate you both." Brinksy makes a face. "You are 400% the worst."

Mitch blinks innocently at Dylan. "Did he pass math?" he wonders.

"The _worst_ ," Brinksy reiterates, stomping off to his seat.

They both crack up pretty much immediately. They're saved from retaliation when Coach gets onboard, but Dylan can feel Brinks' eyes on the back of his head, radiating vengeance.

"You'll protect me when he tries to get back at us, right?" Dylan says, laying his head on Mitch's shoulder.

Mitch kisses him on the top of his head. "Always."

"Ten out of ten," Dylan says. "Would husband again."

They take off not long after that, and Dylan falls asleep almost immediately. He blinks awake to the sound of Mitch softly saying his name. "Huh?"

"We're landing," he says. "I didn't want you to smack your face on my shoulder if it was bumpy. Lean back in your seat, okay?"

"Ugh, fine." Dylan's starving, and he feels gross.

"Coach came by about half an hour ago," Mitch says as Dylan readjusts. "Tonight's an off night, so as long as we're in the hotel room by curfew, we can do whatever. I figured we could grab some food out, if you're up for it." He smiles. "And if not, well, we'll get room service."

Dylan rubs his nose on Mitch's neck and then leans back in his seat. "Room service sounds good. Plus that way we can guard our bags against Brinksy's payback."

"Okay," Mitch says. "Am I allowed to have cheese today, or would I have to eat it in the hallway?"

"I think you've earned a cheese power play." Dylan stretches out as much as he can.

"Cheese," Mitch says happily. "The third love of my life." He wriggles in his seat and Dylan wonders, not for the first time, how he ended up with such an adorable dork.

"Hey," Darren pipes up from behind them. "Can I put a picture of you guys being plane nap husbands on Insta and tag it 'life goals,' or is that something your publicist will eat me for?"

Dylan grins. "It's probably fine, but maybe you should text Sylvie first."

"Better safe than lunch," Darren says, nodding.

Dylan snorts and settles back into his seat as the plane starts descending. It's a smooth landing, thankfully. As soon as the seatbelt light turns off Mitch gets up, standing in the aisle so Dylan has room to get up without being jostled by impatient assholes. They're surrounded by Otters for the most part, so nobody really pushes, but Dylan can see Williams standing solidly in the aisle a few rows back, keeping the tide from breaking.

Dylan loves everyone on this plane, honestly. Or at least everyone on this plane that he knows.

Mitch smiles at him. "Let's go get snacks."

"Bathroom first," Dylan says as he stands up. Sleeping through the flight was awesome, but wow, he needs to pee. The flight attendants give him a _look_ when he fast-waddles to the door. "I'm not due until October," Dylan says, and keeps going.

Mitch follows him closely up the ramp. "You look great," he assures Dylan.

Dylan rolls his eyes. He knows how he looks after a flight, and great doesn't cover it. Especially not when he's five months pregnant and desperate to pee.

"Don't make that face," Mitch argues. "I'm your husband. I get to tell you that you look great. It's in the rules."

"Go get the bags, husband," Dylan commands.

"I delegated," Mitch says, grinning. "And before you ask, no, I didn't delegate to Brinksy. I delegated to Williams, who I'm pretty sure scares Brinksy. Everything's safe."

"Awesome, you get to watch me pee."

"I get to buy you an Ice Capp while you pee," Mitch corrects. "And a donut. Blueberry or chocolate frosted?"

"Whatever. Surprise me." Dylan rushes into the bathroom, and breathes a sigh of relief when it's not packed with other people who just disembarked.

He gets a sympathetic smile from a guy while they're washing their hands. "Flights are the worst," the guy says, nodding at Dylan's belly. "Plane bathrooms just aren't an option."

Dylan snorts. "Yeah, I probably wouldn't have been able to shut the door."

"And the _smell_ ," the guy says, shuddering. "When I was pregnant with my second, I gave it a try. I think I probably used every barf bag on the plane."

"Thanks for the warning."

"No problem," the guy says, smiling. "Have a good one, eh?"

"You too," Dylan says as the guy leaves.

When Dylan walks out, Mitch is standing in the corridor balancing a bag and two cups. "I got a Maple Capp and a Vanilla Capp," he says. "And both donuts. So you can pick whichever one smells better right now."

"You're the best." Dylan makes grabby hands for the bag, but Mitch hangs onto it so Dylan ends up reeling him in.

"I am," Mitch agrees, smiling up at him. "But so are you."

"Good thing we married each other, then," Dylan says. "Too much awesome for anyone else to handle." He kisses Mitch quickly, and steals the bag of donuts while Mitch is distracted.

Mitch just smiles and lets him.

-0-

It's not like Dylan was expecting it to be easy or anything, but the Memorial Cup is a _tough_ championship. There's no room for error, and he loves his team, but he's also worried.

As it turns out, he had no reason to be. The Otters absolutely wreck the other three teams in the round robin, earning them a bye to the final, and Dylan's honestly never been more proud of his guys. They get to sit back and watch as Brandon and Rouyn-Noranda battle it out in the tiebreaker, and then as Rouyn-Noranda takes on Red Deer in the semi-final game.

The night before the final Dylan paces his hotel room, and Mitch tries every trick in the book to get him to calm down. Some of them are more fun than others. He does manage to sleep eventually, and when he wakes up, the baby is firmly drumming on his insides. She must be just as worked up as he is.

After breakfast Dylan drags himself to the rink to watch practice. Taylor and Brinksy are dealing with their nerves by being extra-loud and obnoxious, and the baby twitches every time they yell.

"Everything okay?" Mitch asks quietly, glancing at where Dylan's rubbing his belly.

"Tell your kid to calm down," Dylan grumbles.

Mitch leans down and rests his cheek on Dylan's belly. "You heard your dad. Take it easy, little girl." The baby does her best to punch him in the face, but Mitch doesn't seem to feel it.

"I think that just made her more excited," Dylan admits when Mitch looks up at him.

Mitch beams. "Really?"

Dylan sighs exaggeratedly. "As it turns out, she likes your dumb voice. Go figure."

Mitch wraps his arms around Dylan's waist. "I love you too, baby girl."

Taylor skates up beside them, standing kind of awkwardly. "Uh," he says, pointedly not looking at them. "The Sportsnet cameras are here, and, like, you guys are being... yeah. So if you don't want to be kissing on Sportsnet..."

Dylan looks across the rink and realises that Taylor's standing so he can block them from the view of the cameras. "Thanks, T-Rads," he says.

Mitch sits up, but he's relaxed. Not even 1% embarrassed. "Thanks," he echoes anyway, smiling at Taylor.

Taylor skates away, and Mitch waits all of five seconds before he cracks up laughing. "Oops. Dad caught us."

"He was trying to be nice," Dylan says, but he's grinning. "Or he's terrified that Sylvie will somehow blame him if we get caught doing something super married."

Mitch snorts. "We already did a super-married interview. I don't think it's a secret."

"I didn't say it makes sense," Dylan points out.

Mitch rolls his eyes, and takes Dylan's hand. "You know," he says lightly, "we can't call her baby girl forever."

"Yeah," Dylan says. "Yeah, we're gonna have to... figure that out."

"Once your team kicks Red Deer's ass," Mitch replies, squeezing Dylan's hand.

"It's a date," Dylan says, squeezing back.

Practice is over shortly after that, and they head back to their hotel for a nap. Time seems to fly by, and before he's really ready for it, Dylan's back at the rink, ready to give his last speech to the Otters. He keeps it simple, choking up when he talks about how much he's loved playing with these guys. The guys don't chirp him at all, and he sees more than one of them wiping at their own cheeks.

He stands at the door as the guys head out to the ice, fistbumping everyone as they walk past. "We're gonna fucking do it," Brinksy says fiercely as he stops in front of Dylan. "We are winning this fucker."

"Hell fucking yes you are," Dylan says, grinning at him. He leans in to give Brinksy a quick hug. "And hey, Brinks?"

"Yeah?"

"If shit goes to hell out there," Dylan says, swallowing hard. "You did good, okay? Even if it's not perfect. You still did so fucking good."

Brinksy gives Dylan a wobbly smile, and then facewashes him. "Let's go, boys!"

There's a loud whoop of consensus, and they file out onto the ice.

The game is fast-paced in a way that their first game against Rouyn-Noranda wasn't. The Huskies have clearly decided to bring everything they've got to this game, not that Dylan blames them. Fontaine seems to spend all his time trying to draw a penalty from one of the Otters—anyone; he's not exactly picky—until he finally crosses the line.

Brinksy doesn't have his head up, which is his own fault, but Fontaine takes advantage by hitting him straight in the numbers. Brinksy hits the boards and crumples, and Dylan's heart jumps into his throat for the few seconds it takes Brinksy to roll onto his back and wave to the bench.

The ref looks almost as pissed off as Dylan feels. Brinksy isn't bleeding, but he's definitely not entirely steady on his skates as he makes his way back to the bench. The ref is conferring with one of the linesman, and then he skates over to the Huskies' bench. Fontaine shakes his head at whatever the ref is saying, talking back and making sharp gestures at the Otters bench. The ref says something to him, then gestures down the tunnel, and Fontaine shakes his head angrily, but gets up and stomps away.

"Did they throw him out of the game?" Taylor asks, sounding a little stunned.

"Good," Brinksy mumbles. "Fucker _hit_ me."

Dylan snorts and pats Brinksy on the shoulder. "He did, bud. Let Andy take a look at you, eh?"

Brinksy nods his head like a bobble-figure, and heads down the tunnel without protest.

"Shit," Taylor mutters, as the ref skates to centre ice to announce the penalties against Fontaine. "I'm going to—"

"Score a power play goal," Coach cuts in firmly, leaning over. "He got thrown, Raddysh. Make them pay with a goal, nothing else, got it?"

Taylor tries his hardest, but the best they can manage is to keep the Huskies off the board. They finish out the period with neither side scoring, and Dylan takes a deep breath before they head back into the locker room.

Dylan cracks up when he catches sight of Brinsky. Mitch has his arms pinned, and he's pressing an icepack against Brinksy's skull. "He won't fucking sit still," Mitch whines.

"That's because I'm _fine _," Brinksy says from somewhere in the vicinity of Mitch's left shoulder. "Stromer, get your husband off of me before I kill him."__

__"You two are the same size," Dylan points out. "If you can't fight him off, I question your definition of fine."_ _

__"I was doing you a favor," Brinksy sniffs. "If I throw him off right now while he's not wearing pads, he might be too bruised for all the victory sex you're gonna want to have later."_ _

__"Spoken like a dude who wants a front row seat," Mitch teases, maintaining his iron grip on Brinksy._ _

__"For the victory," Brinksy says immediately. "You can have sex in your hotel room, which is not anywhere near mine."_ _

__Dylan walks over and claps a hand over Mitch's mouth, to stop him from getting Brinksy tossed from the game for attempted murder. "Deal."_ _

__"Get him off me," Brinksy repeats. "I'm cleared to play the rest of the game, but I can't do that with him on my lap."_ _

__It takes a lot of willpower for Dylan not to reply to that with a list of things he's gotten done while Mitch was in his lap. He restrains himself to just saying, "Quitter," and then poking Mitch in the side until lets go of Brinksy to defend himself. "Mitch is ticklish," Dylan says quietly. "Use this knowledge wisely, young padawan."_ _

__Brinksy's whole face lights up with unholy glee, and Mitch scrambles out of his lap. "Traitor," he hisses as he hides behind Dylan._ _

__"Okay," Coach says loudly, preventing whatever was about to happen, which is probably a blessing. "Second period. Keep up the pressure, keep out of the penalty box. Let's get on the board first, boys."_ _

__The Huskies take another penalty early on, to nobody's surprise. The Otters don't manage to score on the power play, which is frustrating, but just before the halfway point of the period, Brinksy takes a neat pass from Betz and bats it over Marchand's shoulder._ _

__"Hell yes," Brinksy crows as he skates by for his fistbumps. "Try to paste me into the boards, huh? Fuck that noise."_ _

__They've barely finished the celly when the Huskies score to tie it up. Dylan grits his teeth, but the Huskies take a penalty not long after that, so he focuses his energy on directing the power play as well as he can._ _

__The team give it their all, but the Huskies have gotten some confidence back from their goal. Sambrook takes a tripping penalty near the end of the period, but their PK keeps the Huskies from taking advantage. When they head into the locker room at the end of the second, they're still tied at one. Dylan doesn't say anything; they've heard it all, and they just need a minute to breathe. They can get this done._ _

__He does his best to stay positive on the bench in the third, even when the Huskies score halfway through the period. It's the first time the entire tournament that they've been down in a game, and he can tell that some of the guys are thinking that._ _

__The Huskies draw two penalties in the back half of the period, but their PK is unreal and the Otters just can't get through. Things are looking desperate when Marchment finally manages to find a lane. The Huskies are too busy trying to cover him to notice Darren coming up the boards. It's the pretty kind of play that seems to unfold in slow motion: Marchy slots a pass across to Maksimovich, who turns and shoots it hard towards the goal. It's a little wide, Dylan can tell, but Darren cuts in from the boards and redirects it in past Marchand._ _

__Dylan gets to his feet. "Woo! M & M!"_ _

__"Tie game!" Taylor screeches as Darren collects his fistbumps. "One more, guys! One more goal!"_ _

__The Huskies fight back hard, but they don't score. They go to overtime tied at 2-2._ _

__Dylan sits in his stall during intermission. Coach gets up and says a few words about playing their game and keeping it clean, and then Dylan stands up. Every eye in the room flicks to him immediately._ _

__"You can fucking do this," he says firmly. "You can. Everyone in this room knows you can." He looks around to see most of the guys nodding. Dylan glances at Mitch and grins a little. "Whoever scores it gets to put the ultrasound photo in the cup for us."_ _

__"This game is ours," Brinksy says firmly. "Let's get out there and take it."_ _

__"Dibs on the goal," Taylor yells as he stands up._ _

__Taylor keeps his word, but he has to battle Brinksy and Lods for the honour. It's definitely not as pretty as Darren's goal had been, but all that matters is that the puck goes in the net. Taylor trips as he shoots it, and he's yelling as he skids across the ice, because he fucking _did it_._ _

__The team fall over each other to hit the ice, and Dylan stays in his seat so they don't bowl him over. Coach beams at him from the other end of the bench. "We did it," he says out loud, testing how it sounds. "We won the Memorial Cup." It doesn't feel real yet, but he has plenty of time to let it sink in. The game's over; the tournament is over._ _

__"Stromer!" someone screams, and then it seems like the entire team is trying to pile back onto the bench to hug him all at the same time._ _

__"Let him breathe," Coach yells, laughing at them._ _

__"No," Brinksy says, popping up out of nowhere to throw his arms around Dylan._ _

__Dylan eventually manages to fight his way to the surface of the Otter pile, and he grabs his oversized Otters jersey and pulls it on over his suit before he heads for the handshake line. He can tell even as he's going through it that it's going to be a moment he won't remember later; he's too excited, and it's not like he knows any of these guys, so them losing doesn't really hit him. And it's over quickly, partly because Brinksy's right behind him giving the "don't even think about it" glare to anyone who hangs on to Dylan's hand too long. Well, too long as determined by Brinksy._ _

__Dylan is pretty sure they're going to give the MVP award to Brinksy; his whole team played lights out, but Brinksy's a special player, and he showed that all tournament long. Dylan claps and cheers when Brinksy skates over to get his photo taken with the Stafford Smythe. Over his cheering team, Dylan hears a wolf whistle. When he turns around, it's no surprise to find Mitch standing at the bench. He's cheering and clapping like he would for one of his own teammates, and Dylan feels like he might explode with how much he loves everything in this moment._ _

__"Where's Stromer?" someone yells._ _

__Dylan rolls his eyes. "As if you could miss me," he yells back. "I'm the one who looks like he swallowed a volleyball."_ _

__Brinksy skates out from the crowd of their cheering teammates, holding the MVP trophy and smiling like his life depends on it. "Wrong sport," he says as he skids to a stop. "But whatever, I got you something anyway."_ _

__"Dude, no," Dylan protests. "You earned it."_ _

__"Like you didn't?" Brinksy shoots back. "Dyls. You're the best captain, okay, and I'll tell Davo that to his face. We're only as good as we are out here because you're in charge. Even if you're not on the ice."_ _

__"That's why I get first dibs on the Memorial Cup! Seriously, Brinksy, take your dues." Dylan tucks his hands behind his back._ _

__Brinksy doesn't budge. "They're gonna put my name on it," he says. "I asked, but Branch was pretty adamant about that not being allowed. So this is just for us, for the team, okay? This is because you're the MVP."_ _

__"Take it," someone from the team yells, and of course that starts a chant._ _

__"Oh my god," Dylan says, blushing. "You guys are going to turn me into a meme." He really doesn't want to go viral for having his whole team tell him to _take it_._ _

__"But the best meme," Brinksy says, grinning. "Most Valuable Meme. Take the fucking trophy, Dylan, or T-Rads is going to steal the ultrasound thing and stick it in the cup without us."_ _

__Dylan takes the fucking trophy, but he doesn't have to like it. That's his story and he's sticking to it, even if he can't stop smiling._ _

__Mitch waves at them from the bench, the ultrasound clutched in his other hand. Taylor lights up like a sunbeam when he sees it, and he skates over to Mitch with both hands grabbing for it. Mitch is laughing as he hands it over, and Taylor holds it almost reverently as he skates to Dylan's side. "Is it time?"_ _

__Dylan holds out the trophy. "Does it look like it's time?"_ _

__"Let's go get the Mem Cup, then," Taylor says impatiently._ _

__The ceremony unfolds at its own pace, no matter how much Taylor makes sad faces at the officials. Luckily, it's not a terribly long one; probably it's because the CHL is aware that they're dealing with a bunch of highly emotional teenagers, and nobody wants a meltdown._ _

__By the time the Memorial Cup is brought out the only thing preventing Taylor from bouncing on his skates is that he'd end up falling on his ass in front of the cameras. Dylan grabs Taylor's arm, half to keep him calm and half to use him for balance as he walks over to the Cup. The official smiles, and shakes Dylan's hand. "Quite the season you've had," he says warmly._ _

__"It's, yeah," Dylan says, laughing a little. "So, picture, right? And then I can take it?"_ _

__"Yeah," the guy confirms. They stand on either side of the trophy and lean in, and about a billion cameras go off. As soon as Dylan blinks all the flash burn out of his eyes, the official steps back and gestures to the trophy._ _

__The team goes nuts when Dylan raises it. He turns in a careful circle on the carpet before setting it down. "Taylor," he hollers._ _

__Taylor trips over himself trying to get to the cup as fast as humanly possible. He's grinning ear-to-ear as he stands next to Dylan. He looks at the ultrasound, then at Dylan's belly. "This is for you," he says, pointing to the photo without looking away from the speck. He gently lays it in the Cup and then beams at Dylan._ _

__Dylan drags him into a hug so he can bury his face in Taylor's shoulder and hide his tears. "Okay, it's a little for you too," Taylor says into Dylan's hair. He's a fucking giant when he's in his skates and Dylan isn't. This must be how Brinksy feels all the time._ _

__"We fucking did it, Rads," Dylan chokes out._ _

__"Yeah we did," Taylor says, and Dylan can hear him grinning._ _

__Dylan squeezes him tight. "We fucking won."_ _

__"Because we're the _best_ ," Taylor says gleefully. "We got the trophy to prove it and everything."_ _

__" _Yeah_ we do!" Brinksy yells, crashing into Taylor's other side._ _

__Dylan loves his team so fucking much. "Okay," he says, pulling back and wiping at his eyes. "Go on, guys. Skate it around."_ _

__Taylor gets loose of Brinksy and skates off before he can steal the Cup._ _

__"Hey," Brinksy protests, but Dylan laughs and holds onto him. "Dyls! He stole the Cup!"_ _

__"Oh no, that's a tragedy, Brinks."_ _

__"Let me go," Brinksy whines. "I need to go get it back."_ _

__Dylan pats him on the back. "Go get 'em, kitten." Brinksy's way too small to be a tiger. He does attempt a roar as he skates after Taylor, though. Dylan grins as he watches them race around._ _

__"Glad you don't have to be responsible for these boneheads next year?" Coach asks as he joins Dylan at centre ice._ _

__"Don't tell them, but I'm gonna miss them a lot," Dylan says. "Seriously. Don't tell them I said that."_ _

__Coach mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key. Then he ruffles Dylan's hair. "They'll miss you too."_ _

__Dylan watches as Brinksy crashes into Taylor on the far side of the rink. They go careening into the boards; the Cup wobbles, but Taylor and Brinksy immediately stop their fighting so they can steady it. They don't manage to keep the photo from falling out and floating down to the ice, though, and Taylor shoots Dylan a guilty look as he scoops it up and puts it back in. Cameras flash all around them, but Dylan doesn't care who sees the fond look that's pretty much guaranteed to be plastered all over his face._ _

__"I lied, I'm not going to miss them at all," Dylan says. Given the way Coach laughs, he doesn't believe it for a second._ _

__-0-_ _

__The whole celebration process is great; the guys are up pretty much all night, starting with watching what ends up being Pittsburgh winning the Stanley Cup, and most of them don't crash until the flight home the next day. They are kind enough to let Dylan nap when he needs to, though; Dylan suspects it has something to do with the way Brinksy bares his teeth at everyone when Dylan starts yawning. From there it's a week of media appearances and autographs before Dylan and Mitch can escape back to their families; Ryan presents Dylan with an actual Dick of the Year trophy as some sort of Memorial Cup gift, which Dylan is pretty sure is just a dildo that Ryan spray-painted gold. It's good to be home, but they have just under three weeks before Mitch has to be at development camp with the Leafs. Dylan's totally not freaking out, but that's mostly because Connor's getting back from Burnaby in a few hours. There's just enough time for a nice nap before they pick Connor and his plus-one up from the airport._ _

__Mitch's parents are typically exuberant about Dylan's win. He smiles until his faces aches, and when he can't help yawning they let him escape for some sleep. He conks out as soon as his head hits the pillow, pretty much, and Mitch lets him sleep until the last possible second before waking him up so they can drive to Pearson._ _

__"You're the best," Dylan says, rubbing his eyes. "Let's go get Davo."_ _

__"And sugar pie," Mitch adds._ _

__Dylan cracks up. "You want a piece of Nutter Butter pie?"_ _

__Mitch waggles his eyebrow and grins. "How many terrible innuendo nicknames can we call him before Connor breaks?"_ _

__"I can't wait to find out." Dylan kisses him and rolls out of bed. He loves it when a plan comes together._ _

__They spend the entirety of the half-hour drive to the airport coming up with terrible things to call Nuge. "This is going to be magical," Mitch decides when they're pulling into arrivals._ _

__They barely have time to park and get to the right gate before Nuge is bounding through the door, grinning like a maniac. "Bunnies!" he calls out loudly. "I missed you."_ _

__Connor follows at a more sedate pace. He's rolling his eyes, but he also has a huge smile on his face. "Hey, guys. Thanks for coming to get us."_ _

__Nuge wraps his arms around Mitch. "You're a pocket-sized snack bar. Mini-Marnsmallow."_ _

__Mitch hugs him right back, tucking himself as tightly into Nuge as he can. "It just means I'm a good size for cuddling, honey bear."_ _

__Dylan throws his arms around Connor. "Aww, aren't they cute."_ _

__"They're trouble," Connor mutters darkly. "Did you know Nuge's brother is a trainer?"_ _

__Dylan snorts. "So it was a work trip?"_ _

__"No," Connor says. His face is doing the tomato thing. "I was visiting."_ _

__"Damn, sugar pie, you really worked him hard," Dylan calls out to Nuge._ _

__"Snickerdoodle," Nuge coos, freeing one arm from hugging Mitch so he can hold it out for Dylan. "C'mere."_ _

__In keeping with his nickname, Dylan snickers. "There's more of me to love than there used to be."_ _

__"Hi, little cookie," Nuge says softly when Dylan walks over for his hug. "How's the oven, huh?"_ _

__Dylan facewashes him. "We have another appointment this week. You'll find out then."_ _

__Nuge's whole face lights up. "Will we get to see her?"_ _

__Dylan exchanges a look with Mitch. "Yeah. I mean, if you want. I was hoping you guys would come, so you know the drill for when Mitch is away."_ _

__"We'd be thrilled," Connor says, stepping into the group hug thing they've got going on._ _

__They get a couple of pissy looks from people rushing past, annoyed that anyone would dare stand still in an airport. Dylan just reaches for Mitch's hand so he won't flip them off._ _

__They're finally breaking the hug up when Dylan hears someone cough really loudly from behind him. He turns around and there's a kid standing there, maybe seven or eight years old, and he's looking at them like this is the greatest day of his life. Dylan takes a step to the side; it's Connor the kid is looking at, and probably Mitch. The legend and the Leaf, he thinks wryly._ _

__The kid stares at him as he moves, though. "Um. Are you... are you Dylan Strome? You look like Dylan Strome."_ _

__Dylan shoots the others a look, but Nuge shrugs, so Dylan turns back to the kid. "Uh, yeah, that's me."_ _

__The little boy gives him a huge gap-toothed smile. "You're my hero," he gushes. "You're a great hockey player and you're so fast, and you have a really good slapshot. And, and, I'm G+ too, and my mommy said that I can still play in the NHL when I grow up, and it's true, because you are!"_ _

__Dylan's going to fucking cry in an airport, but he can't help the smile on his face._ _

__Nuge steps forward and kneels down. "Can I tell you a secret?"_ _

__"You're Ryan Nugent-Hopkins and you play for the Oilers," the little boy says, voice hushed. "Okay. I'm good at secrets."_ _

__"I'm G-positive too." Nuge holds out his hand for the kid to shake. "I look forward to seeing you play."_ _

__"Oh my _gosh_ ," the kid says, eyes so wide that it must be hurting him a little. He sounds a little like he's about to cry, too. "Really? Dylan's not the only one?"_ _

__"Nope, he's not the only one," Nuge confirms. "He's my friend, and next year he's going to play in the NHL. But there are already people just like you in the league."_ _

__"Wow," the little boy says, voice wobbling. "Wow."_ _

__Nuge takes the kid's hand, but he hurls himself at Nuge for a hug instead._ _

__"I'm gonna play in the NHL,' he says, sniffling into Nuge's neck._ _

__"You're going to be awesome," Nuge agrees._ _

__Dylan swallows thickly. "So good," he manages to get out. "Keep skating, eh? And make sure you work on your stickhandling. You have to work really hard, but you can do it." He doesn't dare sneak a look at Mitch or Connor; they both wear their hearts on their sleeves, and he's currently winning his fight against bawling in Arrivals. He'd like to keep it that way._ _

__"I think your parents are looking for you, buddy," Connor says softly after a moment._ _

__"Brendan!" a worried looking woman shouts, and the boy twists in Nuge's arms. "Oh my god, honey, don't run away like that! Mama and I—" She cuts off when she sees exactly who her son is with. Instead of doing the starstruck thing, she just sighs. "Well, of course you ran off, then." She offers them all a smile. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. Mr. Strome, you've been Brendan's hero since everything happened. I hope he didn't..."_ _

__"It was great meeting him," Dylan cuts in. "He's great. I'll be watching the draft really carefully in a few years to make sure he gets picked."_ _

__"He made me worried about my job," Mitch adds, media smile beaming._ _

__Brendan giggles. He still hasn't let go of Nuge all the way. "You skate better than me," he confides to Mitch. "Sometimes I fall."_ _

__"Me too," Nuge says. "Word of advice: find comfortable wrist guards."_ _

__"Wrist guards," Brendan repeats obediently._ _

___Thank you_ the mom mouths at Dylan over Nuge's head._ _

__Another woman makes her way over to them, dragging a suitcase. "I'm getting him a leash," she announces. "Brendan, honey, you can't run away like that, okay?"_ _

__"Mama," Brendan protests. He pats Nuge's chest. "This is _Ryan Nugent-Hopkins_ and he _plays hockey_ and he says I can, too."_ _

__"I also say listen to the people who have to drive you to practice," Nuge says, ruffling Brendan's hair._ _

__"That's good advice," Connor agrees. "We're glad we met you, Brendan, but you should listen to your moms."_ _

__The second mom frowns at Connor. "You look familiar," she says thoughtfully. "Are you on TV?"_ _

__Brendan groans and really dramatically thunks his head against Nuge's shoulder. " _Mama_. That's _Connor McDavid_."_ _

__Her face brightens. "Oh, the hockey boy! From..." She looks at her partner._ _

__"The Oilers," the other woman supplies, barely holding back a laugh._ _

__"Oh. Right. Are you boys all coming back from a match or something?"_ _

__The other woman cracks up. "Katie, stop. Brendan's going to explode."_ _

__Brendan lets go of Nuge and starts dragging his parents away, so they can't embarrass him any further. "Bye!" he yells back over his shoulder. "Thanks for playing hockey and being nice!"_ _

__"Wait, we didn't sign anything!" Connor calls after him._ _

__Brendan freezes and looks back over his shoulder. "Could you?" he asks, embarrassment suddenly forgotten in his excitement._ _

__Connor produces a Sharpie from god only knows where. "Your shirt, maybe?" he offers._ _

__"Wow," Brendan breathes, letting go of his moms and running back. He skids to a stop in front of Connor, then twists around, offering the back of his shirt. Connor leans down and carefully signs his name. They pass the Sharpie around, and Dylan definitely notices that they all sign lower so he doesn't have to bend as far._ _

__"It was nice meeting you," Dylan says, smiling as Brendan turns around. "Keep playing. The NHL won't even know what hit it."_ _

__Quick as anything, Brendan reaches his arms around Dylan and carefully hugs him. His face is right at Speck level, pretty much, and his arms definitely don't go all the way around Dylan's thighs, but Dylan almost starts crying anyway._ _

__"Thanks," Brendan whispers, and then he's running to grab his parents again._ _

__"Let's go home," Mitch says, grabbing Dylan's hand. He sounds about as choked up as Dylan feels right now._ _

__Nuge takes one look at them and holds out his hand. "Keys," he says, but his face is soft. Mitch hands them over without protest, which is both a miracle and a sign of how off-balance he is right now._ _

__"C'mon, let's get going," Connor says, grabbing his suitcase. His free hand comes up to cup Dylan's elbow, and he leads them all out into the sticky Toronto night._ _

__-0-_ _

__Connor had warned them that he was going to be in Markham with Nuge by eight the next morning, but that doesn't mean Dylan's happy when his alarm goes off._ _

__"Make it stop," he whines, batting at Mitch, who laughs and rolls out of bed. Dylan has to lever himself up carefully, so he doesn't put too much pressure on his hips. Watching Mitch just move any way he wants makes Dylan want to punch things._ _

__By the time he manages to get up and showered and dressed, Mitch has breakfast ready. Connor and Nuge show up while Dylan's trying to distract Mitch and steal his coffee._ _

__"You can have tea," Mitch says for like the fifth time, just as they're walking in. "Tea is delicious. Nice decaf tea."_ _

__"You're a sadist," Dylan complains. "There's no reason I can't have just a _little_ caffeine." He's been letting Mitch get away with pampering, and being overprotective, but this is getting ridiculously out of hand._ _

__"We can ask the doctor tomorrow," Nuge cuts in. "Right? The doctor will know."_ _

__Dylan scowls. "It's a judgement call, apparently. And _somebody_ doesn't want to take the chance."_ _

__"Can you blame me?" Mitch asks._ _

__"Uh," Dylan says, gesturing to the coffee cup Mitch won't hand over. "Yes." He can't believe it's come to this. They're on the verge of an actual, legit fight over _coffee_. And Mitch isn't letting him win._ _

__"How about," Connor says cautiously. "Look, we'll talk to the doctor, okay? And when she confirms that a little is okay, then Mitch, man, you need to let Dylan make that call."_ _

__Dylan snatches Mitch's coffee cup, marches over to the sink and pours it out. "You're cut off until after the appointment."_ _

__"What?" Mitch yelps. "Dyls, that's not—" Thankfully, he cuts himself off before finishing that sentence._ _

__Nuge clears his throat. "Do you guys need a minute? Does Connor have to put you in time out, or...?"_ _

__"No, we're good," Mitch says, huffing a little. "Let's go look at houses."_ _

__Mitch sulks on the drive to the first place. That's fine; Dylan's maybe kinda sulking a little, too._ _

__By the time they pull up in front of the first house, Dylan's mostly over it, at least for now. He lets out a hysterical little giggle when he glances out the window. "Davo. That house is _gigantic_."_ _

__"And ugly," Mitch adds, sounding kind of awed._ _

__Dylan snorts. At least they can agree on something._ _

__"Well, we don't have to get the first one we see," Nuge says, but it sounds like he's trying not to laugh. "Let's see what the realtor has to say, eh?"_ _

__Connor is making an expression Dylan hasn't seen since the night the Oilers won the draft lottery. "Okay, well, let's get this over with," he mutters. "Hopefully the next one is better?"_ _

__The realtor's waiting for them on the doorstep. He looks like Don Cherry's accountant cousin. "Hello, hello!" he says, holding his hand out. "I'm Reginald Finch. It's great to meet you gentlemen!" He then gives a really weird laugh, and alarm bells start going off in Dylan's head._ _

__Connor pastes on his media smile. "Hi, I'm Connor. And these guys are going to be stuck with me this summer."_ _

__"Great, great," Finch says. He offers his hand around without asking for anyone else's name. Dylan wants to figure out how to discreetly wipe his hand off after his turn; it was like shaking a sweaty limp fish. Mitch glances at Dylan, grinning mischievously, and wipes his hand on the back of Nuge's shirt. Nuge looks at them and rolls his eyes, but Dylan catches him wiping his hands on his pants._ _

__They all trail after Connor, bobbing their heads in agreement whenever the realtor talks. It's not like the guy cares about their opinions anyway._ _

__When he's showing off the eighth bathroom— _eighth_ , Dylan's been counting—Dylan can't help himself any longer. He leans over and mutters to Nuge, "Four of us, eight bathrooms. One for each ass cheek?"_ _

__"She can play trampoline on your bladder all she wants," Nuge says quietly. "You're never more than one room away from being able to pee."_ _

__Mitch presses his lips together, his face turning red with the effort not to laugh._ _

__Fortunately, the next room is the last one in the house. "The great room," Finch says grandly as he leads them in. "Isn't it just... great?" He laughs at his own joke, and Connor manages a weak chuckle, but it's clearly forced. "So, thoughts on this one?"_ _

__"Um, I think the great room is a little too great?" Connor winces apologetically. "My niece would probably get lost."_ _

__"Oh, kids are adaptable," Finch says, laughing again. "How old is she? Will she be spending a lot of time with you?"_ _

__There's a long pause as they all look at each other, and then Dylan slowly raises his hand. "Uh. It's a girl."_ _

__Mitch grins, showing his perfect, vicious teeth. "We're going to need a nursery more than a great room."_ _

__Finch, to his credit, doesn't even blink. "Well, that's a consideration, for sure! If you gentlemen aren't thrilled by this house, though, we can move along. There's a place over in Rosedale that I'm sure you'll just love."_ _

__"Great," Connor says brightly, before any of them can crack jokes about how unlikely that is._ _

__They make it back to the car before Mitch cracks up. "What the fuck?"_ _

__"Don't let Finch see you crack," Dylan replies. "Who knows where he'll take us next?"_ _

__"I can't believe he actually had a bird on his tie," Connor says._ _

__Nuge snorts. "That definitely wasn't a finch."_ _

__"Really?" Dylan asks, delighted. "Do you think he knows, or..."_ _

__Nuge pulls out his phone, and they spend the drive from Summerhill to Rosedale comparing photos of finches and cardinals, which is definitely the bird on Finch's tie._ _

__"Okay, how much time do we have to come up with cardinal jokes?" Mitch asks gleefully._ _

__"There's another house after this one," Connor says as he parks in front of a house that might actually be bigger than the last one._ _

__Nuge stares at the giant house, eyes wide. "What are we even supposed to do with all that?"_ _

__Dylan bites his lip and glances at Mitch, who's staring down at his phone._ _

__"Finally found something too big, Goldilocks?" Mitch teases without pausing in his rapid Google-fu._ _

__"Wouldn't you like to know," Nuge shoots back immediately. "What's the over/under on bathrooms in this one?"_ _

__"Twelve," Dylan says. "I'm going with twelve."_ _

__"Can I bet 'too many' and leave it at that?" Connor asks. "Because definitely too many."_ _

__Instead of placing his bet Mitch starts wheezing. "Oh my god, Dyls, you need to see this."_ _

__Dylan makes grabby hands for the phone. "What is it?"_ _

__"If it wasn't miles away I'd totally make him take us here." Mitch tilts the screen so Dylan can see... Cardinal, Ontario._ _

__Dylan starts laughing. "Okay, that's amazing."_ _

__"Game faces on, kids," Nuge says. "I totally want you to show me later though."_ _

__"Let's get this over with," Connor says, opening his door._ _

__Dylan would love to stay here and have a giggle fit, actually. Connor ducks his head back in specifically to glare at Dylan, though, so he takes a deep breath and makes himself climb out._ _

__They don't even make it inside before the house gets a failing grade in Dylan's books: there are half a dozen steps up to the front door. The rest of the house doesn't really impress him, either; it actually has _nine_ bathrooms, and every room looks more like a museum than a place where he could see someone living. Connor doesn't smile once the whole time they're inside, and it takes a lot to break his deeply-instilled politeness._ _

__Finch either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because he gives them a huge smile as he wraps up the tour. "Amazing, right?"_ _

__"Someone put a lot of work into this place," Connor says diplomatically, his voice flat like freshly-surfaced ice._ _

__"I know you have another place for us to see," Nuge says. "Is it any smaller? This is, uh..."_ _

__"More than we're looking for," Dylan supplies._ _

__Cardinal Reggie juts out his chin. "It's smaller," he says. "In fact, it's even a little smaller than the first one." He doesn't sound thrilled about it._ _

__Nuge rests his hand on the back of Connor's neck. "Let's go see."_ _

__If the third house is any smaller than the first one, Dylan sure can't tell. It also has way too many bathrooms, and the laundry machines are in the basement. The only thing he likes is the giant jacuzzi tub in the master suite, and he'd really only like it if he didn't have to look at the rest of the bathroom while he was using it._ _

__"Thanks for everything, Mr. Finch," Connor says as they finish up the tour. "We've, uh, got a lot to talk about. We'll be in touch, okay?"_ _

__They get back to the car, and as soon as Finch drives away Connor punches the steering wheel. "That was a waste of a morning," he says. "Sorry, guys. I should've gotten a better realtor."_ _

__Nuge sighs, and takes Connor's hand so he can't keep fighting the car and losing. "It's not your fault. Finch is a dickhead."_ _

__"He seemed nice on the phone," Connor mumbles._ _

__"He's a fucking asshole who heard your name and started picturing dollar signs," Mitch says. "Just wait until I tell Cameron."_ _

__"Don't," Connor says. "Just. We'll find someone else, okay?"_ _

__"And we can give them a list of things we want and things we don't," Dylan adds. "A bathroom limit. We can tell them we'll walk if they totally ignore us."_ _

__Nuge rubs his thumb over Connor's knuckles. "It's really not your fault he tried to rip you off, babe. Let's go get food and come up with a plan."_ _

__Connor takes a deep breath and lets it out before leaning over to peck Nuge on the lips. "Okay. Let's do that."_ _


	22. Chapter 22

Connor seems a lot calmer by the time their food is served. He manages to wait until Dylan's eaten half his burger before blurting out, "Okay, so, the plan. What have we got?"

Nuge gets his phone out and opens Google Docs. "Let's make a list of things we want," he says. "And things we don't. That way, whoever we find next has more to go on than just us needing a house."

"He didn't care about anything I sent him," Connor complains. "I mean, stairs, for fuck's sake."

"No stairs to get into the house," Nuge narrates as he types.

"I'm pretty sure the Leafs have someone they use," Mitch says. "I can ask for a name?"

"That's probably a good idea," Connor admits.

Mitch nods and pulls out his phone, probably to send an email. "I vote big showers," he says. "Walk-in ones, so they're easy to get in and out of."

"A first-floor bedroom and a full bathroom," Dylan adds. "In case one of us gets hurt and can't do stairs."

"Low counters and shelves in the kitchen," Nuge says, "in case one of us gets hurt and can't do reaching."

"Plus Mitch is kind of short," Connor says, smirking. “Tall cabinets wouldn't be good anyway."

Mitch flips him off. "You won't be laughing when there's a crying baby to juggle and you have to reach the formula."

Connor's face goes all gooey for a second before he shrugs a little. "What about one of those, um... food closet things?"

Dylan narrows his eyes. "A what?" He's pretty sure Connor's talking about a pantry, but making him squirm is fun.

"One of the," Connor says, waving his hands around. "Like a walk-in closet, but for food? And extra pots and pans?"

Nuge makes a choking noise. "Walk-in food closet," he echoes.

Connor narrows his eyes as he looks around the table. "You're all fucking with me, aren't you?"

Mitch pastes on an innocent expression. "Why would you say that?"

"He just plays hockey," Nuge says to no-one in particular.

That's it; Dylan cracks up. "A pantry," he wheezes out. "A fucking pantry, Davo."

"Babe, you've lived with Taylor for _too long_ ," Nuge says, taking Connor's hand.

"That's why I'm moving in with you next season," Connor says, leaning into Nuge's side. "Even if you don't have a _food closet_."

Now it's Dylan's turn to choke.

Mitch grabs for Dylan's hand and squeezes. "Really? You guys are moving in together?"

Connor stares at him for a minute and then cracks up laughing. "Well yeah, that's why we're here. Picking a place to live."

"I mean," Mitch says, flapping his free hand at them. "For the season. Full-time."

Nuge smiles, and it's a tiny, quiet thing but Dylan can see him beaming on the inside. "Well, we won't be road roomies so it's more like half-time, but yeah. If Connor can still stand looking at me after this summer."

Connor smiles too. "Hallsy says he wants a do-over on the rookie thing, since I apparently 'imprinted on the wrong vet.'" He actually uses air quotes. "Also, I was gonna move out anyway. Nobody needs a repeat of April."

"April?" Dylan asks.

"You don't want to know," Nuge says as Connor shudders. "Hallsy and Ebs. That's really all you need."

"Hallsy and Ebs before they were 'cruelly separated' for Worlds," Connor adds with a grimace.

"Oh," Mitch says, and he manages to pack so much horror into it that Dylan's a little impressed. "Yeah, no. Nobody needs a repeat."

Dylan nods in agreement. "I'm guessing they took clean out day too literally."

"Oh my god," Nuge chokes, turning to hide his face in Connor's hair as he starts laughing.

Mitch steals Nuge's phone. "Privacy space between the two main bedrooms."

"Yes," Connor agrees quickly. "How many bedrooms do you think we need?"

Dylan shrugs. "At least four, and space to work out."

"Does four include the one on the first floor for emergencies, or is that an extra?" Mitch asks as he types.

"One downstairs, one each upstairs, and a nursery," Dylan ticks off on his fingers. "I don't know, do we need an extra one? All our families live close except for you, Nuge." Ryan's probably going to get a place with JT again this summer, but Matt might want to sleep over. It's Dylan's job as an older brother to make sure there's room.

"It's probably not the worst idea to have another," Nuge says, shrugging. "I mean, we can plan on them using the downstairs bedroom, but if we need that for an injury or something..."

"So five bedrooms, three bathrooms," Connor summarises.

"At least one tub," Mitch says.

"Internal garage access," Nuge adds. "If it's raining you need to be able to get Speck out of the car."

"If there's a yard, it needs to have a fence," Connor says. "Or we need to be able to put one up."

Mitch raises his eyebrows. "Dude, you're Connor McDavid. We're not letting you move into a place that's not secure like Fort Knox."

Connor rolls his eyes. " _Dude_. I'm not worried for my own sake."

"Well, you should be," Mitch says, rolling his eyes back at Connor. "You're the one buying this place."

"And therefore I have to make sure it's safe for my niece," Connor says, nodding.

Dylan elbows Mitch in the ribs. "Calm down, papa bear."

"Not even one bear," Mitch shoots back, grinning.

Nuge snorts. "Do I want to ask?"

"We were talking about when Speck was conceived," Dylan begins.

Nuge reaches across the table and slaps his hand over Dylan's mouth. "That's a no. You could've just said."

Connor clears his throat loudly. "Space for a home gym, and a double garage. Anything else?"

Dylan considers licking Nuge's hand to get him to pull away, but Nuge must be able to tell or something, because he backs off pretty quickly. "Maybe a regular tub for baby baths, and a big tub for if we need to soak?"

Mitch adds it to the list. "Okay, I think we have a plan." He shows Dylan the list, then hands the phone back to Nuge so he and Connor can check it over too.

"Looks good to me," Nuge says after a minute. "And it's not like this is set in stone or anything. It's just something to give the realtor a place to start."

"Email it to me," Mitch says. "I'll forward it to whoever the Leafs put me in touch with."

Dylan plants his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. "So, we wandered off-topic for a while, but let me tell you about bears."

"No," Connor whines, but he leans into Nuge instead of getting up, so Dylan goes for it.

-0-

Dylan feels a little like they're taking a clown car to the appointment with Dr. Hewitt. Mitch is driving and Dylan's in the passenger's seat, and then Connor, Nuge, and Chris Marner are all packed into the back. Dylan's really glad he doesn't have to strip down and wear a medical gown with his ass hanging out.

The receptionist smiles at Dylan's entourage, and Dr. Hewitt doesn't even bat an eye when she walks in and finds five people instead of just Dylan and Mitch.

"I see introductions are in order," she says calmly. They do a quick "who I am and why I'm here" before Dr. Hewitt gets the exam started.

"My brothers aren't here," Dylan adds once she's finished writing everyone down. "But they might make an appearance at some point."

"Okay," Dr. Hewitt says, smiling. "That's not a problem at all. I'm glad you have such a good support system."

The appointment is pretty uneventful until it's time for the ultrasound.

"We're gonna get to see her," Connor says, voice hushed. "Not just a photo." When Dylan glances over, he's gripping Nuge's hand tightly. Dylan's still awe-struck himself, every time; he doesn't even know how to handle other people's emotions. He's glad that he has firmly established himself as a crier, because he's gonna tear up for sure. At least this way everyone is prepared for it.

Dr. Hewitt does her thing, and when speck comes into view Dylan starts laughing. "Of all the days for you to moon the camera."

"She doesn't like it when you poke her with the wand," Mitch says. "Maybe she'll move if you do?"

Dr. Hewitt laughs. "Good idea." Sure enough, when she moves the wand around, Speck wriggles around on the screen and turns to face them.

There's a trio of audible gasps from the peanut gallery.

"She's so tiny," Chris chokes out.

"About the size of an ear of corn right now," Dr. Hewitt confirms.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "She doesn't feel tiny when she's practicing a kick save."

"Have you been able to feel her yet?" Dr. Hewitt asks, turning to Mitch.

Mitch honest-to-god pouts. "No."

"It probably won't be long," she assures him. "It might help if you talk to her. Some babies respond to voices they know well."

"I know." Mitch glares at Connor, like he's personally offended by Dylan and Connor's friendship.

Dylan reaches over and pinches Mitch's arm. "We can try that tonight." Then he turns to Connor. "Sorry, the caveman thing is how he copes with not spending every second of every day up in my grill."

Chris reaches over and pinches Mitch's other arm. "Share," he says sternly.

Mitch crosses his arms and slumps in his seat. "I can share. I'm sharing right now."

"He's not good at sharing," Chris says solemnly to Nuge.

Nuge sighs heavily. "We'll manage, I guess."

"Do you want a few stills from the ultrasound?" Dr. Hewitt asks. She looks like she's barely hiding a smile.

"I guess," Dylan says, sighing longsufferingly. "It would be mean to leave here with only memories for the peanut gallery, right?"

"Way too mean," Connor says immediately.

Chris snorts, but he doesn't disagree with Connor.

"I can do that, then," Dr. Hewitt says. "Do you have any questions for me today?"

After a sideways glance, Mitch clears his throat and pulls up his list.

"Here we go," Connor mutters.

"Hey, Chris," Dylan says. "Pinch him for me. I can't reach."

Chris obliges, because he's the best brother-in-law Dylan's ever had. Also the only one Dylan has, so far.

"Anyway," Mitch says loudly. "I have my schedule for around the due date, and I was hoping we could maybe figure out what day would work for the C-section?"

"Well, if everything goes according to plan," Dr Hewitt says, "I'd be comfortable with any time from October 3rd on."

Mitch scrolls on his phone. "That would actually be perfect for me," he says. "Home game the night before, and I'm sure they'll okay me flying out late for the game on the 4th, since it's preseason." He looks over at Dylan. "What do you think?"

Dylan bites his lip. "I don't know if it's possible, but I'd like you to be there for the first week as much as you can." The idea of actually having to take care of a human baby is kinda terrifying.

"May I see your schedule, Mitch?" Dr. Hewitt asks. Mitch hands his phone over, and she nods after a moment. "The 5th might work out better for you. Dylan, you'll likely be in the hospital for three to four days after delivery, so that would mean Mitch would be there for the delivery, and would then be home by the time you were released."

Dylan tears up a little. His doctor is the _best doctor_. "That's perfect," he murmurs. "Can you wait two whole days to meet her, babe?"

"Maybe," Mitch says, his voice wobbling.

"I'll tell you what, gentlemen," Dr. Hewitt says, smiling at them. "I'll put you on the schedule for October 5th, and if you change your minds and want to do it on the 3rd, you can call the office up until about a month beforehand and they can see about changing it for you."

Mitch casts a sideways glance at Chris, then scrolls farther down his list. "Okay, that one can wait," he mutters.

"Ooooh," Chris says, drawing it out. "Sex question?"

"I will answer that, and you can never un-know," Mitch threatens.

"Coffee," Dylan cuts in before Mitch does something that Dylan will regret. "Am I allowed to have it in moderation, or is it a strict no-go?"

"Your blood pressure is fine," Dr. Hewitt says, "so there's no reason why you can't have some occasionally."

"How occasional?" Mitch asks. "And, like, one cup at a time, or every few days he can just have whatever, or..."

"I think I should speak to the two of you alone," Dr. Hewitt cuts in. She turns to Chris. "If you ask the receptionist at the desk, she'll give you the photos. You can wait in the reception area; we shouldn't be long."

Chris thanks her, and herds Connor and Nuge out of the room even though Connor makes sad puppy eyes at him. Dylan figures maybe eldest brothers are immune.

Once the door shuts behind them, she turns to face Dylan and Mitch again. "So, Mitch," she says gently, "is coffee all you're worried about?"

"Of course not," Mitch says, waving his phone at her. "I have so many questions."

Dr. Hewitt smiles slightly. "I appreciate that you're so involved, but you need to trust Dylan's judgement. He's going through a lot right now, and he doesn't get to have a lot of control over what's happening to his body."

Dylan keeps his lips firmly shut. It's nothing he hasn't said before, but maybe hearing it from someone else will help Mitch come to grips with it.

"My practice specialises in non-cis pregnancies," Dr. Hewitt continues, "and making sure my patients feel like they're being heard is important for limiting dysphoria."

"I just," Mitch says, slumping a little in his seat. "There's not a lot I can do? So I thought..."

Dr. Hewitt nods. "A personal anecdote, if I may?" she asks. When they both nod, she goes on. "My wife and I have three children. The first time she got pregnant, well..." She smiles and shrugs. "It was similar to your story, in its way. We didn't think she could, with the hormones I was on as part of my transition."

Dylan winces in sympathy. "Did you freak out?"

"I'll say 'a little,'" she says. "My wife will tell you it was more like a lot. I had a lot of the same feelings I'm imagining you have right now, Mitch. You want to do more, to help as much as you can, but it's really mostly on Dylan right now. Is that at least some of it?"

"Yeah," Mitch admits. "I missed a lot in the first trimester, and I'm going to be travelling with the team for months."

"So you're worried about making up for lost time," Dr. Hewitt concludes. "It's okay to want to do more, and that feeling doesn't really go away. It's not a bad thing, but you have to make sure you talk about it. And listen, too."

Mitch drops his gaze. "I just... I always thought I'd get to be there more."

Dylan reaches for Mitch's hand. "You know I'm not mad at you for any of that, right? It sucks, but I get it. And I know you'll spend as much time with us as you can."

Mitch nods, gripping Dylan's hand tight. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

"That's not in the game plan," Dylan replies, trying for a smile.

"You both have a lot of responsibilities, even leaving aside becoming parents," Dr. Hewitt says gently. "It's okay to ask for help, and it seems you have plenty of people in your corner."

"We do," Dylan confirms, swallowing hard and squeezing Mitch's hand.

Dr. Hewitt raises an eyebrow. "Well, it's not uncommon for the non-carrying parent to forget to apply that to themselves."

Mitch looks up. "What?"

"Burnout can be a thing, if you put too much pressure on yourself to be everywhere and do everything," Dr. Hewitt elaborates. "I'm guessing you don't hesitate to ask for help on Dylan's behalf, but when was the last time you took a rest?"

Mitch opens his mouth and closes it again before shaking his head. "I don't want to miss anything," he says quietly.

"You won't, babe," Dylan assures him. "We're living together all summer."

"And for at least a few months after," Mitch says. "I know, it's just..." He sighs.

"You can take half an hour," Dylan points out.

"A suggestion," Dr. Hewitt says. "Dylan, this is something I wanted to bring up anyway. Are you sleeping well? Are you napping?"

"I do okay," Dylan replies. "She wakes me up sometimes, but hockey's gotten me used to napping during the day."

Dr. Hewitt nods. "That's good. Mitch, what do you generally do while Dylan's napping?" Dylan waits to see if Mitch is going to 'fess up. He absolutely doesn't, and after a moment, Dr. Hewitt grins. "Baby things, then," she guesses, and Mitch nods a little sheepishly.

"There's just a lot," he mumbles.

"There is," Dr. Hewitt agrees. "My suggestion, Mitch, is that you take Dylan's nap times as little pieces of time off. Nap with him, if you want. If not, find something else to do. Read a book that has nothing to do with babies, take a long shower, watch cat videos on YouTube." She smiles when they both laugh a little. "Just do something that's totally for yourself."

Mitch grimaces. "I'll try."

"Think of it like a maintenance day," Dylan says, squeezing his hand. "Your coach would think you're nuts if you went to the rink on a day off."

"My coach wouldn't be surprised," Mitch mutters rebelliously.

"He'd kick you out if you went every single day," Dylan says evenly. "Is that what I need to do, babe? Get Connor to drag you out of the house?"

"He seems the type who would do it," Dr. Hewitt remarks.

Mitch rolls his eyes. "Okay, I get it."

"Good," Dr. Hewitt says. "Are there any other questions you had for me today?"

Dylan takes Mitch's phone and glances over the list. "You really do have a question on here about sex," he says when he gets to it.

Mitch blushes. "She's getting big, and she doesn't like being, uh, poked."

Dr. Hewitt coughs, and Dylan suspects it's to cover up a laugh. "Biologically speaking," she says when she's recovered, "you wouldn't be, ah. Poking her, per se. It's perfectly safe through the third trimester, though it may get uncomfortable the closer to October we get."

"I am so not giving up sex," Dylan blurts out.

"There's no reason to," Dr. Hewitt assures him. "There are plenty of resources online for comfortable sexual positions while you're pregnant, if you want to try Google. If not, we have some pamphlets you can take with you."

"Google is fine," Mitch replies hastily. "My brother would never let me hear the end of it if I walked out of here with the pregnant Kama Sutra."

"Okay," Dr. Hewitt says. "If you have trouble finding things, just give the office a call. Jeanine can email you some links."

Mitch shudders. "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

"I have one more thing, if you don't have any more questions," she says.

"Sure," Dylan says cheerfully. Mitch is squirming in embarrassment, which is hilarious considering he did this to himself.

"I'd like for you to start tracking your sleep and your moods," Dr. Hewitt says. "Being able to track changes is important, and the earlier we start, the better. There's an app you can download that just has you check in once a day, so it's not too time-consuming."

Dylan nods, saying "I can do that," as Mitch blurts out, "Why?"

Dr. Hewitt smiles. "Hormone changes can be especially difficult for trans or G+ patients. And getting in the habit of tracking moods now can make it easier to keep it up postpartum."

"So there's nothing wrong," Mitch says.

"No," Dr. Hewitt reassures him. "I just think it'd be helpful to establish a baseline."

"Sounds good to me," Dylan says. "What's the app?"

She rattles off a name, and Dylan writes it down in his phone's notepad to look up later. They finish up in a matter of minutes after that, and Dr. Hewitt reminds them to make another appointment in a month before leaving the room.

"Come here," Dylan says once they're alone. Mitch gets up immediately, wrapping his arms around Dylan and resting his head on Dylan's shoulder.

"I love you," Dylan says, turning his head to kiss Mitch on the side of the head.

"Love you too," Mitch says, sighing a little. "Sorry I was a jackass about the coffee thing."

"You're a jackass who means well," Dylan replies. "You're my jackass. And I need you to take care of yourself, okay?"

"I want to take care of you," Mitch mumbles into his shoulder.

Dylan hold him tight. "I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

"Good," Mitch says decisively. He takes a deep breath before stepping back. "Let's gather up the horde and head home."

Dylan grins at him. "Sounds like a plan."

-0-

Mitch is quieter than normal over the next couple of days, but insists he's fine when Dylan asks, so Dylan doesn't push. It's not until they're getting ready for bed on Wednesday night that Mitch blurts out, "I was thinking about maybe going to Buffalo for the draft?"

"Is that a question?" Dylan replies, smiling at him.

"Sort of," Mitch hedges. "It's just—I was thinking about what Dr. Hewitt said, I guess. I sort of always planned to, I think? And then since everything happened, I just... pushed it aside."

Dylan takes Mitch's hand, and rubs his thumb over Mitch's wrist. "It's not far, babe. And it's only a couple of days."

"Do you want to come?" Mitch asks. "I mean, I haven't asked around about tickets or anything, but we can probably get our hands on two."

Dylan grimaces. "I would if I wasn't pregnant, but it's not fair to make myself the big story on other people's draft weekend."

Mitch sighs a little. "Maybe I should just stay home," he says.

"Or you could go cheer for our friends, and tell me all about it when you get back."

"I guess," Mitch says. "I mean, if I can get a ticket."

Dylan squeezes his hand. "We'll make it happen, and you'll have a great time. Even though it's Buffalo."

"I'm gonna tell Eichs you said that," Mitch says, smiling at him. "You're really okay with me going?"

"Eichs said it first," Dylan says. "And yeah, babe. I think it'll be great."

Mitch snuggles into Dylan's side, hiding his face in Dylan's t-shirt. "You can call me any time."

Dylan smiles. "Same goes for you." Mitch snuggles in farther, and Dylan pokes him. "Go call Chucky," he says sternly. "Or Juo, or Parse. Get a ticket before you fall asleep."

"Ugh, fine," Mitch complains, "but I reserve the right to cuddle."

"Ticket first, then cuddling," Dylan says.

Mitch rolls over and pulls out his phone, sighing dramatically as he starts texting. It doesn't take long before his phone is buzzing, and he gives Dylan a thumbs-up. "Chucky's got one." He taps out another message and then puts his phone on the bedstand. "Cuddle time?"

Dylan opens his arms and waggles his fingers. "Come get it."

Instead of doing his best octopus impression, Mitch leans in and brushes a quick kiss against Dylan's lips. Then he scoots down until he's eye-level with Speck and puts his hand on the bump. "Hey, baby girl. Think you can move for me before I go?"

Dylan snorts. "If she could perform on demand I'd be getting a lot more sleep."

"It's worth trying, right?" Mitch asks. He turns back to face the bump. "C'mon, sweetie. Can you move for Daddy? Just a little?"

The speck keeps being stubborn. Dylan's a little proud. "Maybe I should have a glass of water or something."

"No, don't worry about it," Mitch says, sighing a little as he rests his cheek carefully on the bump. "If you give her a glass of water, she'll keep you up forever. She'll say hi eventually."

The speck kicks sharply. Apparently she's a cat, not a bear, and she doesn't like even the mention of water.

Mitch's head jerks up. "Was that—"

"Welcome to my world."

"She kicked me in the face," Mitch says, sounding a little awed. He face breaks into a huge, beaming smile. "Dyls. She kicked for me!"

Dylan grins. "She kicked _at_ you. It's her thing." But he grabs Mitch's hand and places it on his stomach.

Sure enough, it seems like she's plenty awake now. She starts her nightly exercise routine, and Mitch buries his face in Dylan's shirt as she kicks away.

"Her legs are pretty strong," Dylan observes. "How long do you think we should wait to get her on the ice?"

"As soon as you're up to skating afterward," Mitch says. "Like, I'll have to ask, but I'm positive they'll let us have a few minutes after a practice one day to just take her around the rink a few times." He smiles up at Dylan. "We can put her skate booties on her. Not quite the same, but..."

Dylan smiles back. "She's going to be so fucking cute the team will die."

"Us too, maybe," Mitch says. "I'm pretty okay with it."

"Come up here," Dylan demands. "I need you to kiss me."

Mitch presses a kiss to Dylan's belly before wriggling his way back up. Dylan grabs him as soon as he's close enough.

"Cuddle me," he murmurs against Mitch's mouth, tilting his head to kiss him.

Mitch laughs. "I'm trying, but someone's coming between us."

Dylan pouts. "I wondered when the fat jokes were going to start." The speck kicks hard. At least she's on his side.

Mitch shakes his head a little, so at least he gets that Dylan's kidding. Mostly. "You're amazing, okay? You're always amazing, but right now..." He gives Dylan a ridiculously sappy smile. "I'm not gonna say you're glowing or whatever they always say, but when I wake up next to you in the mornings, when I can look at you and how you're growing our kid, I just... Dyls."

Dylan kisses him to make him stop talking, because he really doesn't need to end his night with crying.

"I love you," Mitch says, when Dylan pulls back. "Kind of a lot."

"I—" Dylan chokes up, and has to try again. "Me too."

"Want to go to sleep?" Mitch asks softly. "Or we can put something on Netflix and just relax for a little while. Up to you."

The speck rolls, and her elbow presses somewhere really uncomfortable. "She's trying to moon you again right now," Dylan jokes, "so I don't think I can sleep yet."

"Planet Earth?" Mitch says hopefully. "It doesn't have to be the bears one."

"But it's tradition," Dylan points out.

"I mean, if that's the one you want, I'm certainly not gonna say no," Mitch says, grinning.

Dylan snorts as Mitch grabs his laptop. "Hey, did you hear back from the Leafs' people after you sent the list of house stuff over?"

"Yeah, they're working on it. I told them the last guy was more concerned about dollar signs, and I think their professional pride is wounded." Mitch cues up Netflix and sits back against the headboard, ready and waiting for Dylan to rearrange him.

"That's a good sign," Dylan says, tucking himself against Mitch and then poking him until he's in the optimal position. "What's the next step?"

Mitch rubs his cheek against Dylan's. "Bears. The next step is totally bears."

"Good enough for tonight," Dylan says. "Let's watch the bears."

-0-

As it turns out, Connor's going to the draft, too. There's a lot of packing in Dylan's life the next day, and then a lot of people going in different directions. Dylan ends up in a car with Chris and Nuge early on Thursday, because Mitch and Connor wanted to get on the road to Buffalo before the traffic got bad, which meant that Nuge had no ride to the airport for his flight back to BC.

Dylan yawns so many times on the way to the airport that Chris insists on stopping for coffee. Dylan smiles at him sleepily as Chris hands the Timmies cup over. "I married the wrong Marner," he says as he takes a sip. "You're not a coffee hoarder. That makes you better."

"What about me?" Nuge complains from the back seat.

Chris rolls his eyes, muttering "I'm surrounded by youngest children," for Dylan's ears only.

Dylan snorts and thinks about it for a minute: Mitch, Connor, Nuge... Yeah they're pretty much doomed. "Well, I can't marry you," he says after another sip. "Davo would cry. Nobody wants that."

Nuge kicks the back of Dylan's seat, because he's a brat.

"Okay, go ahead, tell him you're leaving him for me," Dylan shoots back. "I bet you get a really sad face snapchat. Even though he knows it's not true."

Chris passes Nuge a cup of coffee. "If you make McDavid cry, Don Cherry will kill you in your sleep."

"He wouldn't have the chance," Nuge mutters. "Connor's brother is legit terrifying, and I say this as someone who has had to take faceoffs from Corey Perry."

"Aww, PB 'n J," Dylan teases, "scared of the in-laws already?"

There's a few seconds of silence before Nuge snorts. "That was weak, honey muffin."

"Whatever, I haven't had caffeine in months." Dylan sits back in his seat to enjoy his sweet, sweet coffee.

"If coffee is the key to your heart, I'm gonna win it pretty quickly," Chris observes. "I know how to work the french press."

Dylan puts a hand to his chest and fakes swooning. His phone buzzes before he can say anything, and he opens it to find a snap of Mitch pouting at him. _dont leave me for my brother i can make u coffee too!!!!_

Dylan swivels around as well as he can to glare at Nuge. "Tattletale."

Nuge grins, unrepentant. "I'm going to be away for a while. Had to make sure none of the good drama happens without me."

"How far are we from Pearson?" Dylan asks Chris. "Can we just kick him out here and make him walk the rest of the way?"

"I'll think about it," Chris says, grinning.

"You're my favourite in this car," Dylan says appreciatively. He turns around and nods. "See that? He's my favourite."

Nuge raises an eyebrow. "Including the speck?"

"Of course not," Dylan says. One of his hands touches the bump gently. "She's always first. Favourites are named from second place on down."

By the time they get to Pearson she's wriggling and kicking like crazy. Dylan grimaces at his coffee. "Traitor."

"She's kicking?" Nuge guesses. "Sad she has to say goodbye to her favourite uncle, I guess."

"Connor left this morning," Chris says, sounding confused. "And I'm still here."

Nuge narrows his eyes. "Marnsmallow didn't tell me you were this mean."

" _Marnsmallow,_ " Chris repeats gleefully. "Oh my god, he didn't tell me about that little gem." He pulls the car up to the drop-off and holds his fist out for Nuge to bump. "Truce."

Dylan gets out of the car to hug Nuge goodbye, and if the speck kicks Nuge in the stomach during the process well, that's just a bonus.

Nuge freezes, though. "Was that," he breathes.

"She's wide awake," Dylan replies.

"I felt her," Nuge says, face breaking into a huge smile. "Wow. Uh, has... anyone else?"

Dylan pats him on the shoulder. "She kicked Mitch in the face before he left. I'm starting to think she'll play defense."

"As long as she's not a goalie," Nuge says. He's still beaming. "Can I, uh, feel? Or is that weird?"

"It's not weird if you ask first."

"Okay, cool," Nuge says. He holds his hand out awkwardly. "Where..."

Dylan places his hand low and to the left. It takes a few seconds, but sure enough, she kicks pretty hard. Nuge is so surprised he jerks his hand away.

"Now imagine that, but it's your face," Dylan says, laughing. "And you didn't know it was about to happen."

"Oh my god," Nuge says, cracking up. "You're the best, Speck. Don't ever change."

"She's the best," Dylan agrees. "You're coming back east in a few weeks, right? She should be kicking like crazy still."

"I'll be back. Connor's going to need moral support for your wedding thing," Nuge teases.

Dylan makes a face. "We're all gonna need moral support for that." He leans in for another quick hug. "Text when you land, okay?"

"Sure, Mom." Nuge lets go and swaggers into the airport.

"Wrong parent," Chris yells from inside the car. "Demotion! You're, like, ninth favourite now!"

Nuge flips him off and keeps going.

Dylan gets back in the car and rolls his eyes. "I used to think he was such a great role model," he confides. "Little did I know."

"Never meet your idols," Chris says solemnly.

It makes Dylan laugh as he reclines his seat a little. "I'm gonna nap," he says. "Wake me when we get home?"

"You just had an entire coffee," Chris says in disbelief. "How are you going to nap?"

"Watch and learn," Dylan says. He probably won't actually sleep, between the coffee and the kicking, but resting is sometimes just as good.

When Dylan blinks awake it feels like it's only been a minute, but Chris is sitting in the driver's seat eating a donut. They're parked... somewhere.

"I got you a sour cream," Chris says when he notices Dylan's awake. "I'm pretty sure everyone loves sour cream donuts."

"Thanks," Dylan says, making grabby hands.

They munch in silence for a few minutes before Chris clears his throat. "I want to ask you something, but you totally don't have to answer, okay?"

Dylan nods, busy inhaling his donut.

"There's a bunch of us on rotation for going to see Dr. Hewitt with you," Chris says. "I noticed your parents aren't on the list."

"Your parents aren't on the list either," Dylan points out.

Chris nods. "You don't know them really well, though. It might be weird for you if they were there." He shrugs a little. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Dylan. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"We're good right now," Dylan says, ducking his head, "but I don't want to jinx it."

"Oh, Dylan," Chris says, sighing a little. From anyone else it would probably make Dylan bristle, but Chris doesn't sound patronizing at all. "Let me know if there's anything you need, okay? I know parents aren't always the most understanding."

Dylan blinks hard. "They freaked out when I told them, and they didn't talk to me again until I got traded. They're trying to make things better, but it's hard. I always thought I could trust them."

"That," Chris says, taking a deep breath. "That sucks. That _beyond_ sucks." He leans over and gives Dylan an awkward sideways hug, but Dylan pushes him back so he can unlatch his seatbelt and get a better hug.

Mom really is trying, and Dylan appreciates how much she's doing to get the wedding reception together. But sometimes he hesitates, now, when he would've told her anything before. He's a little afraid to reach out to Dad, too, because he'd only stopped being angry at Dylan when he'd been able to get angry at the Coyotes. Dylan's kind of nervous that it won't take much to make it focus right back on him.

"You've always got us, no matter what happens," Chris says.

"I know," Dylan mumbles into his shoulder. "Thanks, Chris."

Chris hugs him and rubs his back.

"You might have some competition from our baby cousins, though," Chris says eventually. "They fight over who gets to sit next to Mitch."

"I'm bigger," Dylan says instantly. "Also, I married him, so that means I have dibs."

Chris snorts. "We'll see. Mitch is a sucker for puppy eyes."

Dylan smirks a little. "I've got other things to hold over his head."

"Don't tell me, oh my god," Chris says, laughing. "So. Should we stop for draft supplies on the way home? And by draft supplies, I mean ice cream and tissues."

"Yes," Dylan replies without even thinking about it.

"Excellent," Chris says, pulling back and giving Dylan the patented Marner smile. "Rocky road and Kleenex, here we come."


	23. Chapter 23

Dylan's pretty sure Chris said something to his mom, because Bonnie is extra nice leading up to the weekend. Well, she's always nice, and Mitch got his smile from her, but she definitely seems... extra. She doesn't comment when Dylan puts his three pints of ice cream into the freezer after they get home from the airport run, and when Dylan goes to pick one right before the draft starts on Friday night, two more have appeared in his pile. He looks at them for a moment before grabbing the mint chip that wasn't there before and a spoon. He might not have picked it out originally, but he's never going to say no to mint chip.

Bonnie doesn't say anything when he sits down with it, but her knowing smirk speaks volumes.

"Oh, hey, Mom's favourite ice cream," Chris says when Dylan digs in. "Solid choice."

Dylan pauses with the spoon halfway to his mouth and glances at Bonnie. She rolls her eyes. "If you think that's the only mint chip in the house, think again."

"Sorry," Dylan mumbles anyway, and gets up to grab a bowl.

"Sit down," Bonnie says, waving her hand at him. "That one's for you. Marner babies love mint chip."

Dylan flops back down on the sofa, giving Chris the side-eye. Chris gives him puppy dog eyes in return. Dylan clutches the ice cream to his chest. "You don't count as a Marner baby anymore."

"Please," Chris whines, making grabby hands.

Bonnie smacks him in the arm. "Settle down, Christopher. You can get your own."

Paul walks in and raises an eyebrow. "Chris. What did you do?"

Dylan puts on an evil grin. "It's fine, I can share my ice cream." Years of being the middle child have taught him the value of appearing to be the reasonable one.

Paul sighs longsufferingly. "Chris, have you broken a limb since I saw you last? No? Then why are you trying to steal ice cream from your pregnant brother?"

"Who said anything about stealing?" Chris protests.

"Get your own," Paul says sternly, pointing at the kitchen.

Dylan gets comfortable and is absolutely not smug in his victory.

Chris grumbles but does get up to get his own. As soon as he walks out of the room, Bonnie cracks up. "I can't believe that worked."

Paul grins and settles in beside her. "Should've told him to bring enough for the rest of us, too."

It takes a few minutes, but Chris comes back to the living room carrying three bowls. He makes a face at each of his parents as he sets theirs down in front of him, then reclaims his seat on the sofa.

Paul grins. "We trained you well." Then he serves himself and Bonnie ice cream.

"Start the training early," Bonnie advises Dylan. "Parenting is a lot easier when they fetch and carry for you."

Dylan hides his grin in his ice cream as the TV shows video of Auston Matthews arriving at First Niagara. It's clearly a clip from earlier, because they flash quickly to him sitting in the seats with his family, then pull back to show the draft floor. Dylan absolutely remembers what that's like—sitting there, nervous and trying not to show it, hoping that it'll be over quickly but wanting to remember every second of it.

He remembers the next part, too, when Bettman walks onto the stage and the entire arena fills up with loud booing. Dylan tunes out most of his speech, and then the draft is underway.

The first two picks go exactly like everyone thought. It goes a little haywire after that; for some reason, Columbus chooses Dubois instead of Puljujarvi, so Edmonton snatches him up at fourth. That puts the Canucks on the clock, and Dylan holds his breath as they approach the stage. Jim Benning gets behind the mic and gives his little speech, and then he calls Juo's name.

"Aww," Dylan says, sniffling a little. "Mitch is probably going nuts right now."

"Hell yeah," Chris says delightedly. "Good for Juo."

Tkachuk goes next to the Flames, and Dylan's phone buzzes. As he predicted it's Mitch, with a series of crying emoji.

"He's freaking out," Dylan confirms. He texts back a bunch of thumbs-up emojis, then tries not to make it too obvious that he's paying really close attention when the Yotes are put on the clock.

Time ticks by, and Dylan's starting to wonder if they're going to make a trade, but then Chayka strides up to the mic. He gives his "thanks to everyone, congrats to the Pens" speech, and then smiles at the crowd. "With the seventh overall pick, the Arizona Coyotes are proud to select Clayton Keller."

Nobody says anything, and then Chris reaches over to take Dylan's hand. "Isn't he..."

"Yeah," Dylan says shakily. A bunch of the draft prospects had disclosed their G+ statuses ahead of the draft, probably to avoid going somewhere that didn't approve of their biology. Somewhere like the Coyotes. His eyes blur with tears, and he doesn't pay much attention to the next few picks. Chris leans in to give him a huge hug, and Dylan snuggles into his side.

He blinks out of his fog when the Devils go on the clock, because they're in the Isles' division. They do the song and dance, and then they select Mikey McLeod.

Dylan throws his hands in the air, narrowly avoiding smacking Chris in the face. "Go Mikey!" He grabs his phone and swipes it open, sending a bunch of exclamation points and random emoji to Mikey. When he's done, he notices a text waiting from Mitch. Dylan hesitates for a minute, because he's surrounded by Mitch's family. But Mitch probably knows that and wouldn't send anything he doesn't want Chris to chirp him about until the end of time.

It's timestamped a while ago, and when Dylan opens it, he sees why. It must've been sent right after the Yotes chose Keller, because it's just ten different versions of hugging emoji.

_I love you_ , Dylan sends back, with half a dozen heart emoji.

Chris grabs his hand when the Yotes go on the clock again, and he holds it tightly as they choose Jakob Chychrun.

"That's two," Dylan says faintly. "I guess the new GM isn't as old school." He's trying hard not to be bitter; being traded to the Isles is far from the worst thing to ever happen.

"I'm sorry, honey," Bonnie says gently.

"It's their loss," Paul adds. "They'll be kicking themselves for years to come."

"Can I kick them too?" Chris asks. "I volunteer for that job. I'll do it for free."

Dylan somehow manages to laugh. "You can kick Maloney if you ever meet him."

"I promise," Chris says solemnly.

Dylan settles in for what's left of the first round, becoming increasingly anxious as Brinksy's name isn't called. The Isles take Kieffer Bellows, who Dylan knows nothing about. He does his duty as an Islander and tweets a welcome to his new teammate anyway.

The Hurricanes take a right winger who isn't Brinksy and Dylan wants to throw his phone across the room. "This is bullshit!" he blurts out, and then peers guiltily at Mitch's parents. "Sorry, I just—Gauthier is good, I played with him at World Juniors, but he's not Alex."

"You're allowed to want good things for your teammates," Paul says. "And if you mean that DeBrincat kid, then yeah, I can understand why you're upset. He's an incredible player, and you have to wonder if it's about his size." He makes an unimpressed sound. "Which is, to quote, bullshit."

All but one of the picks after that are forwards, but none of them is Brinksy, and Dylan is livid. "I cannot fucking believe this," he mutters as he taps out the exact same message to Brinksy. Speck kicks hard in agreement.

Dylan's phone buzzes almost instantly, but it's not a reply from Brinksy: it's Juo. _what the fuck_.

_WHAT THE FUCK_ , Dylan types back furiously. _is he ok???_

_stuck in media_ , Juo sends back. _happy face on but im not happy_.

_ok will keep you updated_ , Dylan texts back. Then he switches over to Connor. _how is he??_

Connor sends back a string of sad faces. _cameras are on us. he has grimace face._ Dylan sighs. That makes sense; Brinksy's had to smile all night, and now he has to keep it up indefinitely.

_tell him he's way better than gauthier_ , Dylan sends back. _and he's prettier too._ He doesn't add that Juo agrees with him, because you never know who's going to be looking at your phone over your shoulder. Especially when you're Connor McDavid.

_he says thanks and to give speck a hug from him_ , Connor replies a few minutes later. _also take pics of that bc how do you even do that??_

Dylan cheers up a little, now that he has a mission to accomplish. After he cleans up his ice cream mess and says goodnight, he heads upstairs and grabs the latest ultrasound off the dresser. He props it on top of his giant stuffed otter and lays down next to it. Then he carefully arranges himself and the otter until he can snap a selfie that clearly shows the ultrasound, too. He sends it to Brinsky, captioned _hi uncle alex_.

Brinksy sends him back a string of heart eyes emoji almost instantly. _hi baby girl uncle alex is gonna buy you a tiny jersey from whatever team picks him tmrw_ , he adds a moment later.

Before Dylan can reply, Brinksy texts again. _uncle tall rads says you'll get one of his team too but MINE WILL BE BETTER_

Another pause, and then: _uncle short rads said something babies aren't allowed to hear when i called him uncle short rads_

_don't tell anyone but ur my fav_ , Dylan replies.

_psh like that's a secret_ , Brinksy says immediately.

Connor texts him while Dylan's still grinning at his phone. _idk what you did but he's smiling now_.

Dylan smiles down at his phone. _captain duties complete_.

_for tonight_ , Connor adds. _get some sleep so u can watch him get drafted tmrw._

_yes dad_.

_no this is davo_ , Connor sends back. _other dad is a diff number_.

Right on cue, Dylan's phone buzzes with a text from Mitch. _srsly go to sleep_.

Dylan sends Mitch a heart emoji and a middle finger emoji, then puts his phone on silent. Speck has calmed down a lot, so it's probably a good time to at least try to sleep.

He carefully puts the ultrasound away, and snuggles up with the otter. "Wish my team luck," he says to its whiskery face. Then he buries his face in its neck and falls asleep.

-0-

Dylan wakes up in time to have a fortifying breakfast, just in case he needs to rage at the TV for a while. He's grateful that the first round of the draft is the odd one out; it had been three and a half hours last night, but the remaining six rounds will probably only take that long combined.

"Come on, come on," he mutters as team after team submit their picks.

Luckily, he doesn't have to wait too long. It's only about ten minutes before the Hawks take Brinksy with their first pick in the draft. Dylan lets out a sigh of relief, and sends his congratulations.

Brinksy doesn't reply, too busy doing all his media stuff, but he gets a text from Juo less than a minute later. It's a link, and when Dylan clicks it, it takes him to a photo of a baby-sized Hawks jersey. A few seconds later, a link to a Canucks one appears, too.

Dylan grimaces at his phone. _i'll put her in it ONCE_.

_take picture!!!_ Juo demands.

_debut booked for october 5_ , Dylan sends back.

_SHE WILL BE BORN THEN?????_ Juo texts back. _we know baby birthday!!! you didn't tell me!!!_

Dylan can't help laughing. _u were busy w draft_.

_can i tell alex???_

Dylan starts tapping out a reply, but he drops his phone when the announcers call Taylor's name. "Baby Raddy!" he yells, then scoops his phone back up to text his congrats to Taylor. He made _plans_ for this occasion.

Four radish cartoons later he decides to stop spamming Taylor's phone and reply to Juo. _oct 5 is official but bb girl might be impatient_.

_but can i tell??????_

Dylan had no idea Juo was so into punctuation, but it's kind of hilarious. _sure go for it_.

In under a minute Brinksy sends a string of screaming faces. Connor texts a pic of Juo squishing Mitch in a bear hug.

Dylan smiles hard and puts a hand on his belly. "Everyone's pretty excited to meet you, kiddo." She rolls over, but it's still dark in her time zone, so she doesn't start kicking or punching just yet.

The Yotes draft another G+ player in the third round, and by this point, it's way more than coincidence. Dylan knows he can't be the only one who thinks so, and that's confirmed when one of the reporters roaming around the floor corners the Yotes' new GM.

"We're taking the best players available," Chayka says smoothly. He has to have practiced a lot, to be able to say it without giving too much of a hint that he thinks Don Maloney was a jackass.

"I mean, it seems like a little more than that," the reporter says, going for a smile. "There was a lot of rumbling in the air about the attitudes towards G-positive players in Arizona after Dylan Strome was traded—"

"If you can play, you can play," Chayka interrupts. He sounds stern. "We've had a lot of team meetings over the past few months, since I've come on as the GM here. We all agreed that we should make it clear that was our attitude going forward."

"That's true, but bias works both ways," the reporter argues. "It can't be good for your depth."

Chayka gives him a sunny smile. "I guess that's why I'm the GM and you're the reporter," he says. His tone is joking but Dylan's pretty sure he means it. "I have faith that everyone we've drafted so far will be an incredible asset to our organisation."

Dylan finds himself staring at the TV, his eyes prickling. He never asked for the Coyotes to put him in the middle of a G+ rights conversation, but he's not going to lie down and let anyone walk all over him either.

He misses a bunch of picks, but jerks back to himself when Chris comes jogging into the living room. He sits on the sofa next to Dylan and wraps him in a hug. "Mitch said you probably needed this," he says into Dylan's shoulder.

"I changed my mind," Dylan mumbles. "Mitch is my favourite Marner. You're second, though."

"I can handle that," Chris says. "What's up? You okay?"

Dylan flaps a hand at the TV, but the interview has long since finished. "I think Chayka just called out Maloney for shitty asset management?"

"For trading you," Chris translates, then whistles. "That dude has balls of steel."

Dylan nods. "I think I'm gonna mute my phone for a while." Sylvie would kill him if he accidentally talked to the media.

"Good plan," Chris says, nodding. He wriggles around and pulls his phone out, tapping out a message before he sets it on Dylan's thigh. "Use mine if you need Mitch or anything. I just told him I gave you my phone."

"Thanks." Dylan can't decide if he's in ice cream withdrawal or not, so he just sits back on the sofa and keeps his fingers crossed for the rest of his Otters.

One of Mitch's Knights goes to the Habs in round four, and it's halfway through the fifth round before Dylan hears another name he's been waiting for. The Red Wings select Jordan Sambrook, and Dylan's so damn proud of him for making it. Jordan's a solid blue liner; if the Otters can't have Darren back next season, Jordan'll be there to watch their backs. It probably also means he's going to have a very small Red Wings jersey, but oh well. He's happy anyway.

The Leafs use their last pick on another Knight, so Dylan assumes Mitch will be grinning ear to ear right now. The last round is terrible, mostly because there's still an Otter who hasn't been drafted. Dylan digs his fingers into one of the throw pillows and hopes, but when the last pick is in Kyle Maksimovich is still on the board.

Dylan hides his face in the throw pillow, trying and failing not to cry. He knows logically that not everyone can be drafted, and this year's draft is proof that guys who get missed their first year still get picked up later on. He can't help thinking about Darren, though. And he knows people are going to pick on Kyle's size, as if it fucking matters when he's only eighteen.

Chris' phone buzzes, and when Dylan looks down, it's from Mitch. _it's ok he'll get another year to wreck the O and then everyone will be falling over themselves next year_

_i know_ , Dylan replies. _still sucks_.

_yeah_ , Mitch says. He adds what seems like every sad emoji in the phone.

Dylan feels ridiculous about it, but the sad emoji actually make him sadder. His lip wobbles against his will, and when he tries to take a deep breath his chest hurts. The phone buzzes with another text, but his eyes are too blurry to see the screen. They all work so hard, and they have dreams, but none of that matters if you don't have people who believe in you and a huge dose of luck.

The phone actually starts ringing, and Dylan glances at the screen. It's Mitch. Of course it's Mitch. Dylan answers, and wipes his eyes even though he knows Mitch can't see him.

"Babe," Mitch says, voice gentle. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Dylan replies. It's starting to hit him how little control any of them have over their careers, their bodies, or what people think.

Mitch sighs a little. "Wish I was there with you."

Ugh, now Dylan feels _worse_ for ruining Mitch's weekend. "Sorry," he says miserably. He's vaguely aware of Chris getting up from the sofa. It's probably awkward listening to Dylan whine. "It just sucks," Dylan says, closing his eyes and leaning back against the sofa. He tries to take a deep, steadying breath.

"I'll be home soon to give you a hug," Mitch promises. "Want anything from the great city of Buffalo?"

"Just you," Dylan says. He's too emotionally wiped out to try for anything more clever.

"And me," a squeaky voice says.

Dylan looks over his shoulder to see what the fuck's going on, and comes face to face with his giant otter. "Chris? What the—"

Mitch's dorky brother makes the otter dive over the back of the sofa and wrap its paws around him. "I love you, Dylan," Chris says in his squeaky otter voice. "Give me lots of hugs! I'll hug you back."

Dylan can't help cracking up. "No! Back off! I'm a married man."

"But hugs," Chris whines, wiggling the otter's arms. "Hugs!"

Dylan snorts. "Mitch, you need to come back and rescue me from your brother," he says into the phone. "He's trying to smother me with otterly affection."

"I mean, I'm bringing Davo back," Mitch points out. "You'll probably be smothered with a different kind of Otterly affection."

"And he'll be Nuge-deprived." Dylan sighs dramatically. "An Otter's got to do what an Otter's got to do."

"That's what I said," Chris squeaks in otter-voice.

"How attached are you to your brother?" Dylan asks Mitch. "No reason, just curious."

"I mean, he made you laugh, so pretty attached," Mitch says. "You gonna be okay until I get home?"

Dylan shoves the otter back into Chris' face. "I can always call Ryan and JT for backup."

"Nooooo," Chris squeaks, wriggling the otter away.

"Okay, see you soon, babe," Dylan says. "I have to go rescue my otter from Chris' evil clutches." He's been through some serious shit with that otter. They've freaked out John Tavares together; they're family.

"I just want to be loved," Chris squeaks sadly, lowering the otter's face so it looks like it's staring at the ground.

"Bye babe," Mitch says, laughing. "Don't kill him too hard."

"I'll do my best," Dylan promises, hanging up the phone and tossing it to the sofa behind him. Then he frowns at Chris. "Don't make me tell your mom on you."

Chris lowers the otter even more and frowns back at him. "You wouldn't," he challenges.

"Don't try me," Dylan threatens. "I've been playing against Mitch for years."

Chris waggles his eyebrows. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"Do you want me to answer that question?" Dylan shoots back sweetly. "Because I will. In detail. And then you'll know exactly what your little brother likes in bed." Dylan pats his stomach. Chris already knows at least _one_ thing they've gotten up to.

"Like you want to tell me about that," Chris scoffs.

Dylan starts laughing. "Oh, man, trying to call my bluff was the wrong move," he says delightedly. "The first time we hooked up was in the Bud. We found an empty trainer's room with a lock on the door, and as soon as we got inside I—"

"Oh my god," Chris says, shoving the otter in Dylan's face.

Dylan is a hockey player, he has two brothers, and he grew up with the McLeods. Whatever shame he had left after that has been forced out of him by six months of prenatal appointments. "Mitch smiles a lot for a reason," Dylan says gleefully.

"Take your otter and leave," Chris says, pushing it into Dylan's arms. "You win. I give. Please shut up."

"Chris!" Bonnie says, choosing the perfect moment to walk in.

In the mortified silence that follows, Dylan _does _take his otter and leave, thank you very much.__

__-0-_ _

__Dylan wakes up the day after the draft to the feeling of someone crawling into bed with him. "Wha," he tries, turning a little bit._ _

__"Shh, sleep," Mitch says, curling around him. "I'm sleeping. You should sleep. We're asleep."_ _

__"I _was_ sleeping," Dylan grumbles, throwing an arm over Mitch's ribs and pulling him close._ _

__"You can be again," Mitch encourages. "Let's both sleep. It's fucking early."_ _

__Dylan dozes off with Mitch's hair tickling his nose. When he wakes up again, it's significantly later, though you wouldn't know if by the way Mitch is still snoring. Dylan gets up to go to the bathroom, and if he jabs Mitch in the side it's totally by accident. By the time he walks back into the bedroom, Mitch is blinking sleepily at him. Dylan's incredibly tempted to climb back into bed, but neither one of them needs to fuck up their sleep schedule like that._ _

__"Come on, get up. You promised to tell me all about the draft," Dylan complains, pouting for dramatic effect._ _

__Mitch pats the bed beside him. "I'm up, I promise. I slept most of the ride home, and I actually did rest some last night."_ _

__"Yeah, you look like you're up," Dylan says dryly, but he takes a seat._ _

__"Davo wanted to get back early so he could get a Saturday session in with Scary Gary," Mitch says, making a face. "I mean, I wanted to get home, but Buffalo at four in the morning isn't a sight I'm eager to see again."_ _

__Dylan snorts. "Davo's probably trying to exercise his sadness away. Gary'll get him too sweaty to think about Nuge."_ _

__"I don't think anything would get him too sweaty to think about the love of his life," Mitch says, then snickers._ _

__"Oh my god, did he actually say that?"_ _

__"No," Mitch says. "But like I said, I managed to sleep most of the way back. It was mostly in self-defence, because after fifteen minutes of him sighing about how _Ryan_ flew back to BC, I needed to sleep so I wouldn't put my hand over his mouth."_ _

__"Nuge is coming back for the party, though," Dylan says. "It's, like, two weeks at most."_ _

__Mitch smiles and reaches to link their fingers together. "Look, as a dude who has spent way more than two weeks away from the love of _my_ life, allow me to tell you how long that can feel like."_ _

__Dylan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I was that dude too. But at the end of it you get reunion sex."_ _

__"Which is good," Mitch agrees. "But I'd rather have the regular sex without all the separation in between."_ _

__"Yeah, as long as it's doctor-approved," Dylan teases, elbowing him in the ribs._ _

__Mitch scowls. "I don't want to hurt her. Or you."_ _

__"Sure you don't have a fetish you haven't told me about? Should I dress up as a doctor next time?"_ _

__"I hope you know," Mitch says mildly, "that every time you do something that makes me want to shove you out of the bed, I make a note on my phone. I already owe you like twelve shoves."_ _

__"I hope you remember," Dylan counters, "that they have to do surgery to get the speck out. Your dick isn't going to hurt her."_ _

__"Well, I'm really in the mood now," Mitch says brightly. "You wanna? All this talk about doctors and surgery and how my dick isn't gonna hurt anything. Hot."_ _

__Dylan blinks. "Wait, are we actually fighting over whether or not I missed you? Because that's ridiculous."_ _

__"I'm not fighting," Mitch says instantly. He moves to lean into Dylan's side. "I was just teasing. Sorry."_ _

__Dylan turns his head and kisses him. "We both missed you. Your mom felt so sorry for me she bought me a tub of mint chip."_ _

__Mitch's whole face goes soft. "She, uh. She always told us that she couldn't stop eating it when she was pregnant with us."_ _

__"She said Marner babies love mint chip," Dylan says, smiling._ _

__"Yeah. Marner babies—" Mitch stops abruptly, and his eyes go wide. "Oh shit: names."_ _

__Dylan feels his own eyes go wide as he stares at Mitch, then stares at his stomach. "Fuck. We have to _name_ her."_ _

__"How do you name a _person_?" Mitch asks, sounding pretty close to terrified. "Like, that's a pretty big thing to screw up."_ _

__"Maybe we come up with things we don't want, and work back from that?" Dylan suggests. "Like, no weird celebrity names. We're not naming her Apple or North or whatever."_ _

__"No super-girly names," Mitch adds, "in case she turns out not to be a girl."_ _

__"Yeah, I like that," Dylan says. "Or like, that shit you read about how sometimes women automatically get skipped for jobs and whatever because of the name on their resume."_ _

__"Fuck that," Mitch agrees. "Okay, we should start a list."_ _

__"I'll pull up a name site, you start the list," Dylan suggests, grabbing his phone from the bedstand._ _

__Mitch reaches for his phone too, grimacing when he unlocks it. "I think I need a list to keep track of our lists."_ _

__"A spreadsheet," Dylan says. "Different tabs for different things."_ _

__"More than one," Mitch insists. "I almost forgot to send our moms the list of RSVPs I got in Buffalo."_ _

__"That would not have been pretty," Dylan says, laughing. "How many people are planning on showing up?"_ _

__Mitch wordlessly hands over his phone._ _

__Dylan's eyes widen as he keeps scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. "Shit, did they invite everyone we've ever talked to?"_ _

__"We both grew up in the GTA," Mitch points out. "And that's where the party is, so it's not like people have to travel. Makes them more likely to show up."_ _

__"At least we convinced them to make it one party," Dylan says, slumping back a little. "We only have to do this once."_ _

__"And it'll help tick some things off the baby list," Mitch points out._ _

__"Another list for your list of lists," Dylan says._ _

__Mitch snorts. "It's not too late to divorce me. Then you wouldn't have to do the ‘yay you're married!' party."_ _

__"Like I'm letting you ditch me for the baby part," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to stand behind you so people don't just walk past and touch my stomach all day."_ _

__Mitch gets a hilariously offended look on his face and flings an arm across Dylan's belly. "I'll bring my stick so I can fend them off."_ _

__"And that's why you're my Knight," Dylan says, running his fingers through Mitch's hair. "Probably leave the hockey armour at home, though. It smells like hockey."_ _

__Mitch pouts and leans down, kissing Dylan's belly. "Then how will anyone know I'm your Knight?"_ _

__Speck kicks him in the face to say hello. Mitch just grins, clearly delighted._ _

__"We can get you one of those 'I'm the dad' shirts," Dylan suggests. "We can both wear one."_ _

__"We can _each_ wear one," Mitch corrects, grinning. "Even if we got XXL I don't think we'd fit in it together."_ _

__Dylan raises an eyebrow, and pats his stomach. "Get him."_ _

__True to form, she still hates being poked, so she kicks right on command. Mitch jerks back, far enough that he starts falling off the bed._ _

__"Good baby," Dylan coos while Mitch flails._ _

__"Bad dad!" Mitch replies, as he loses the fight with gravity._ _

__"You love me anyway," Dylan singsongs. "Speaking of true love, we should make sure Davo hasn't died from heartsickness. Or Scary Gary."_ _

__"Breakfast first," Mitch replies, his voice muffled by the carpet._ _

__Speck kicks just as Dylan's stomach grumbles. "Yeah, breakfast," he agrees._ _

__"Hey Dyls," Mitch calls out, "I'll forgive you if you ask my mom to make waffles."_ _

__Dylan peers over the bed. "Y'know, I think I'm supposed to be the one with the cravings, but you've got this waffle thing."_ _

__Mitch makes puppy eyes at him. "I can have cravings. It's a sympathetic thing."_ _

__"I think it's a you-and-waffles thing," Dylan says. "Do you love waffles more than you love me, Mitch?"_ _

__"Right now, yes. A lot more."_ _

__Dylan rubs at his belly. "I promise I'll always love you more than waffles," he says. "Unlike your other dad."_ _

__Mitch sighs melodramatically. "Fine, go on without me. I'll just sit here with no waffles."_ _

__Speck kicks hard, and then keeps right on kicking. Dylan sighs. "Apparently your kid thinks you need waffles," he says._ _

__Mitch throws his hands in the air. "Waffles!"_ _

__Speck kicks one more time in agreement, so Dylan gives in to the inevitable and heads for the kitchen._ _

__-0-_ _

__Mitch and Speck get their waffles, and then they spend the rest of the morning doing pretty much nothing. It's nice to just curl up together for a few hours until Connor escapes from Scary Gary. They make out lazily for a while, which is pretty awesome. Mitch keeps pulling back just to smile at him, and Dylan blames hormones for how he just smiles back instead of getting annoyed by it._ _

__Dylan's vaguely horny, but not in an urgent way. It's nice just having Mitch back, having him close. Between that and the fact that Speck keeps rolling over and poking him in the kidneys, he's pretty content to just make out._ _

__Connor calls eventually, and Dylan hides his face in Mitch's shoulder. "Do we have to get up?"_ _

__"We should," Mitch says, sounding reluctant. "I mean, even if I _wasn't_ sure he'd just drive over here if we kept ignoring him, we do have that meeting with the new realtor in like an hour."_ _

__"And we need a place to live, I guess." Dylan sighs._ _

__"It'll get really crowded in here if we have to put a crib in," Mitch says. "And, like, a baby dresser. A changing table."_ _

__Dylan takes a deep breath. "This is really happening."_ _

__"Everything is happening," Mitch says immediately, and his Bob Cole impression is so dead-on that Dylan has to laugh a little._ _

__"Okay, now my boner is well and truly dead. Let's go."_ _

__Mitch pecks him on the lips one last time. "I'll call the realtor, you call Davo."_ _

__Connor sounds way too energetic for someone who's just been destroyed by Scary Gary. Dylan's a little concerned, honestly, until Connor mentions he just got off the phone with Nuge._ _

__"Aww. Do you need a cold shower?" Dylan teases._ _

__"I showered already," Connor says blandly enough that Dylan can't be sure if he's making a masturbation joke or if he's just stating a fact. Which means Connor definitely jerked off, but he doesn't want to admit it. He defaults to hockey robot voice when he's embarrassed._ _

__"Well, I'm glad you and Nutter Butter had some nice phone time," Dylan says. "Mitch says we're meeting the realtor in Toronto. Do you want to drive here so we can all go down together, or do you want to just meet us?"_ _

__"I'll drive over there," Connor replies. "When we're done with the realtor I need to talk to Mitch's mom about a couple of things."_ _

__"That's terrifying," Dylan says, a little alarmed. "What do you need to talk to her about?"_ _

__Connor snorts. "The party's in just over two weeks. What do you think I need to talk to her about?"_ _

__"She won't talk to me about it," Dylan says. "Why do you get special treatment?"_ _

__"Because I'm the best man. Just because you had a really long gap between the wedding and the reception doesn't mean I'm shirking my responsibilities." Connor's probably kidding, but Dylan needs to see his face to be sure. And after all the magic Connor pulled at the wedding, Dylan has a tiny sliver of fear. Awe. Confusion. He isn't sure which; feelings are hard._ _

__"Brinksy was a best man too," Dylan says instead of voicing any of that. "You'd better not be stepping on his best man duties. He bites."_ _

__Connor's quiet for an ominous length of time, and then he admits, "Brinksy's in on it. I'll talk to him about it once he's done sucking face with Juo."_ _

__"Okay, now I'm worried," Dylan says flatly. "Get your ass down here so I can grill you in person." Connor's laughing when he hangs up, because under that sweet, hockey robot exterior lurks the heart of a troll._ _

__Either he was already on his way over or he speeds more than Dylan remembers, because he pulls up about twenty minutes later. Dylan has his suspicions that Taylor Hall is a _bad_ influence._ _

__Dylan can't resist as they all pile into Mitch's car. "Get in, losers, we're going house shopping." Connor laughs, at least, and Dylan fiddles with the radio until it's playing something he can ignore. "So," he says when they're on the highway. "We're sure we're not about to meet, like, Reginald Partridge, right?"_ _

__"If we're going full _Mean Girls_ , then it's Regina Partridge," Mitch corrects, "but no. No more bird names."_ _

__"That's already a step in the right direction," Connor says. "What's her actual name? I don't want to accidentally call her Regina."_ _

__"Kate. Her name is Kate. Learn it, love it, pick a place to live," Mitch says, grinning._ _

__"Got it," Connor says. He shifts around in the back. "Hey, Dyls, did you hear from Maks?"_ _

__"I texted him right after," Dylan says, sighing a little. "He deserves to make it, y'know?"_ _

__Connor pokes him in the shoulder, and when Dylan looks at him in the mirror, he's grinning ear to ear. "He got invited to Canucks rookie camp."_ _

__"What?" Dylan yells. "When? That's fucking awesome!"_ _

__"Even better, he'll be there with Juo," Mitch points out. "We can use your rookie to chirp my rookie."_ _

__"That's great," Dylan says, beaming and grabbing his phone. He needs to text Maks to make sure he knows about the chirping plan. "Little Raddysh headed down to Tampa already, right? Their thing is soon."_ _

__"Yeah," Connor confirms. "I think the whole family went down."_ _

__"That's awesome," Dylan says again. "What about everyone else? Did Brinks head straight to Chicago?"_ _

__Connor snorts. "Uh, no. Their camp isn't for like two weeks. I think he headed to straight to Juo's bedroom."_ _

__"I don't know when all the camps are," Dylan says, pouting a little. "And yeah, I meant after the bedroom. I definitely figured we all knew the bedroom step."_ _

__"Well, I think he's staying there until Juo has to leave. Canucks camp starts on the fourth of July."_ _

__Dylan hums a few bars of the Star-Spangled Banner. "Wait, Chicago's camp is in two weeks? Is Brinksy gonna make the party?"_ _

__Connor leans forward and pats Dylan on the shoulder. "There's no way he'd miss it. And the camp ends a day before the party."_ _

__"He would sneak the fuck out of there," Mitch says. "Like. Can you even imagine?"_ _

__Connor starts humming the Mission Impossible theme song, because like Dylan said: troll. Of course, Dylan married the biggest troll in the car, so Mitch joins in pretty much immediately. Wow, they are so grown up and totally ready to take responsibility for a mortgage. Dylan is deeply impressed._ _

__"Sorry, Speck," Dylan says to his stomach. "I know they're probably hurting your ears, but it can't be helped." She kicks pretty hard, and Dylan's not sure if it's in sympathy on in protest. He drums his fingers on his stomach in time with Connor and Mitch's tunelessness. She kicks back, and apparently his kid has no rhythm, but it's nice to have her participation anyway._ _

__Dylan takes a snap for Nuge, of Connor with his mouth hanging wide open. He sends it with a bunch of heart emojis, and gets back a snap of Nuge beaming back at the camera. He shows it to Connor, who tries to wrestle Dylan's phone out of his hands. Mitch laughs at them both._ _

__"Tell him to snap you," Dylan says. "That way you can screencap it and make his face your phone background."_ _

__Mitch snorts. "It's already his phone background. Have a little faith."_ _

__"I can't believe you sent that to my boyfriend!" Connor whines._ _

__"He loves you anyway," Dylan says. "I'm sure he's seen way worse. I mean, he _has_ woken up in the same bed as you, so he knows about the bedhead."_ _

__Connor sits back in his seat and crosses his arms, pouting like the bratty youngest child he truly is. Dylan pokes his tongue out at him. Connor, predictably, does the same._ _

__"Children," Mitch says, grinning over at them as he pulls into a parking space. "We're about to meet someone really important. Can you be nice?"_ _

__"I'm always nice," Connor grumbles._ _

__"That's a lie," Dylan says, turning so he can face Connor. "You just lied."_ _

__Mitch puts the car in park, and Connor takes off his seatbelt so he can launch himself forward and ruffle Dylan's hair. "I would never lie in front of the speck."_ _

__Dylan looks over at Mitch. "Did he just lie again?"_ _

__Connor sighs heavily. "You're lucky I like you."_ _

__"Uh, duh," Dylan says, snorting as he unbuckles and they get out of the car._ _

__The realtor, Kate, is waiting for them inside the diner. Dylan's immediately way more at ease with her than he'd been with Finch; she smiles and shakes their hands, and she doesn't rush them right into talking about houses before they even get to order. She asks about Dylan's due date, and actually writes it down as if it's important._ _

__It's way more like a conversation than a sales pitch, even when she opens a folder and takes out a few listings she'd found for them to look at. "Just preliminary things," she assures them. "Each of them fits most of the criteria you forwarded me, but if there's something you see in some of these that you really like or really hate, it'll give me a better idea of what to look for."_ _

__"Thank you," Connor says warmly. "I don't want to rush into anything but we _are_ on a timetable."_ _

__"I understand completely," Kate says, smiling. "If any of the listings I brought look like something you want to see, I can schedule a viewing for tomorrow. If not, I'll find a few that are more to your liking, and we'll schedule something for later in the week."_ _

__Mitch gets a gleam in his eye when she praises his list._ _

__"Should we tell her not to enable him?" Connor mutters under his breath to Dylan._ _

__"He has a list of lists now," Dylan replies. "I think it's too late."_ _

__Connor and Dylan stare as Mitch chats with Kate and adds a couple of things to his list. He studies the listings intently, pointing at things and asking questions about square footage and electrical codes that Dylan would never in a million years have thought of. Apparently he needs to take the internet away from Mitch to make sure he actually sleeps instead of making more lists._ _

__"Do you want to see any of those houses, or should I start over with the updated list?" Kate asks when Mitch finally runs out of things to say._ _

__Connor actually raises his hand. "Can we see them, or is this a Mitch-only consult?"_ _

__Mitch selects two of Kate's printouts and slides them over. Dylan just raises an eyebrow at him, waiting, and eventually Mitch hands over the rest._ _

__"Sorry," he mumbles, which is a lie._ _

__Connor frowns at one of the ones Mitch had been reluctant to hand over. "Stairs," he says, and the disgust in his voice is hilarious._ _

__"That's why it was in the no pile," Mitch points out._ _

__"Morphine and stairs is a bad combination," Dylan agrees._ _

__Mitch points at two of the other "no" listings. "Stairs there too."_ _

__"Okay, you're the best," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "But it's still Connor's name going on the mortgage."_ _

__"I'm not gonna make him get a house he doesn't like," Mitch says, rolling his eyes right back. "I was taking houses off the list that had things we already said we didn't want. Or didn't have things we did want."_ _

__Dylan takes a deep breath and gets up to go to the bathroom. He needs a fucking break from Mitch's reasonableness. Mitch moves like he's going to stand up and go with him, but Dylan shakes his head and he sits back down._ _

__When he's done his business Dylan stays at the sink for a while. He runs water over his wrists and looks at himself in the mirror. "Get a grip, Strome," he mutters. He doesn't even know why he's so irritated. He asked Mitch to help with things, and Mitch's choice of houses is good. But why the fuck does he have to _take over_ and push everyone else away? Why is everyone going behind Dylan's back? He's pregnant, not stupid._ _

__Dylan takes another deep breath, and then grimaces. The men's bathroom isn't the place for him to have an existential crisis. He steps back out into the diner, almost knocking over Connor. "Uh. Hi?"_ _

__Connor pulls him into a hug. "Hi. Everything okay?"_ _

__Dylan's eyes start burning as he hugs Connor back. "I don't know. Can we talk about it later?" He's probably going to cry, and he doesn't want Kate to think he's nuts._ _

__"Okay," Connor says. He sways from side to side a little. "Would me trading places with Mitch help or make it worse?"_ _

__Dylan sniffles. "I don't know that either. Maybe I could go sit in the car while you guys finish up?"_ _

__Connor squeezes him tight and then lets go. "Wait here. I'll get the keys."_ _

__Dylan just nods. All of a sudden he desperately wants his mom. She's always been able to help him figure things out._ _

__It's Mitch who comes walking back a minute later. He doesn't say anything, just takes Dylan's hand and squeezes it. Dylan kisses him on the cheek, and they head to the car._ _

__-0-_ _

__Mitch lets Dylan have his space once they get back to the house, so Dylan takes the opportunity to nap. Naps can fix a lot of things, or at least make them easier to face. He'll probably be less cranky, at least, and that's a place to start. He curls up with the otter, and he's out like a light in no time._ _

__When he wakes up, Mitch is sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, doing something on his phone. "'M'gonna take that away from you," Dylan mumbles, then yawns._ _

__Mitch sets his phone down so fast it almost goes skidding across the room. "You're awake!"_ _

__"I'm awake," Dylan agrees. "Did you spend the whole time I was sleeping looking baby stuff up?"_ _

__"No," Mitch replies. "Not the whole time. I also texted Crouser."_ _

__"And how's Crouser?" Dylan asks, stretching. "And TK?"_ _

__Mitch snorts. "They're fine, for Crouser and TK. They're not at camp yet, so I figured if you want me out of your hair..."_ _

__"I don't want you out of my hair," Dylan says. "Unless it's a thing like Dr. Hewitt said? If you want to go play street hockey, babe, go for it."_ _

__Mitch shrugs. "I just. You were mad at me before, right?"_ _

__"No," Dylan says slowly. "Not... I'm not really sure? But I'm not mad at you."_ _

__"Then I'm really confused," Mitch admits, "because you got up and left, and Davo said you were crying."_ _

__Dylan scrunches up his nose. "You were steamrolling both of us. Davo had to put his hand up to ask Kate a question."_ _

__Mitch blinks at him a little. "I... uh. Was I that bad?"_ _

__"You were trying to help, I get that," Dylan replies. "But there's four of us making the decision."_ _

__"I was that bad," Mitch translates. He sighs and hunches his shoulders a little. "It's just... it's something I can do, y'know? Sorry if I went overboard."_ _

__"Ask next time, instead of telling us what to do." Dylan holds out his hand. "Come here."_ _

__"I was just trying to make it easier," Mitch says quietly, but he takes Dylan's hand and crawls into bed with him. "If you guys only have to decide between things that meet the criteria we already set up, maybe it'll go a little more smoothly. Or so I thought."_ _

__Dylan kisses him on the forehead. "Maybe tell Kate to bring more than one copy of the listings next time. That'll make it easier to go over things together, so Davo and I don't sit there like kids outside the principal's office."_ _

__"Sorry," Mitch mumbles, turning to bury his face in the otter's fur._ _

__Dylan snuggles close. "I just—I know you, and Connor knows you. Nuge doesn't, and he's older than us. And I don't want you to end up fighting with Connor's boyfriend." His voice wobbles a little, and he grips Mitch's hand tight. "I want everyone to get along."_ _

__"I don't want to fight with Nuge," Mitch says. "But he wasn't even there today, babe. Is this..." He hesitates. "Are you okay? Like, not just about the house. In general."_ _

__Dylan sniffles. "Chris asked about my parents, and I guess it made me worry. About all kinds of stuff."_ _

__"Tell me?" Mitch asks._ _

__Dylan takes a deep breath. "You asked for it."_ _

__"I did," Mitch says. "Maybe I can help. And if not, well, talking about it might help anyway."_ _

__"Okay, so, the party," Dylan starts. "I don't even know what the fuck's going on; even Davo's being cryptic. What if Brinksy got you a stripper?"_ _

__"He wouldn't fucking dare," Mitch says, alarmed. "I mean, I don't really know what's going on either? But I _do_ know that everything is being run through our moms. Like, Davo stuck around after you crashed so he and my mom could have a conference about the party." He nudges Dylan a little. "Brinksy's ridiculous, but he knows it's a whole family thing. And that your mother would kill him with a spoon if he tried to pull anything like that."_ _

__"What if he ordered one of this horrifying C-section cakes with the baby's head popping out?" Dylan continues. "What if there's _cheese_ at the party and I throw up?"_ _

__"Okay, the cheese thing is legit," Mitch acknowledges. "I'm sure Mom is on that, but we can remind her when we go downstairs later." He hums a little. "I know Brinksy's all into this being a huge surprise, but have you told him you're actually freaking out about it?"_ _

__"No. He's been kinda busy since the draft," Dylan points out._ _

__"Yeah," Mitch says. "Maybe mention it to him next time you talk to him, though? I mean, he definitely won't spill whatever it is he's planning, but I'm pretty sure it's nothing terrible, and he can at least confirm that. He's your friend, Dyls. He doesn't want to stress you out."_ _

__"I wish he'd just tell me," Dylan says. "I mean, I get that it's supposed to be a surprise, but I've seen him shoe check too many people to not be at least a little nervous."_ _

__"He won't shoe check your grandma," Mitch promises. "Davo's going to be there, remember? He'll stop the craziness before it happens; he still has captain's mojo."_ _

__"What if he shoe checks me?" Dylan asks. "I'm getting bad at shoes, Mitch. I don't want to have to clean up a bunch of condiments."_ _

__"Babe, seriously, half the guests would tackle him before he got near your shoes." Mitch rubs his thumb over the back of Dylan's hand. It's nice, and kinda soothing._ _

__"I think..." Dylan winces, because he can't believe he's about to say this. "There's so much to do. I think I need to check your lists."_ _

__Mitch is quiet for a little while before he replies. "Is that going to help, or is that going to stress you out more? I'll show you if you want, but it's... kind of a lot."_ _

__"I don't know," Dylan admits. "Maybe I'm stressed because I don't know where to start."_ _

__"Do you think," Mitch starts, then pauses like he's collecting his thoughts. "I'm not trying to, like, steamroll you again, or anything. But do you want the whole thing all at once, or would it be better if I, like, picked ones that are probably more important right now, and showed you those ones first? Like the party, or house stuff, but not... I don't know, the list of crib sheet patterns I thought were cute."_ _

__Dylan thinks about it for a minute. It's been a really long day. "Actually, I vote for cute stuff."_ _

__Mitch's whole face lights up. "Crib sheets," he says excitedly. "Seriously, they're so cute. They have ones with little dragons on them."_ _

__"Gimme," Dylan demands._ _

__Mitch leans over the side of the bed and pats at the floor until he finds his phone, then pulls up his Amazon app. "I made a bunch of wish lists for different stuff," he says, holding his phone up so they can both see it. "Tell me if you love or hate stuff, and we'll fix the list as we go?"_ _

__Dylan turns his face so he can peck Mitch's cheek. "Sounds great."_ _


	24. Chapter 24

Dylan spends most of Monday with Mitch's lists, looking at various party things. Bonnie confirms that she knows what Brinksy's up to, too, and that it's "completely adorable and not at all terrible, Dylan, don't worry." Mitch's lists give Dylan ideas for a couple of lists of his own, which is going to horrify pretty much everyone they know. He goes to bed on Monday a lot happier than he had on Sunday, which means that by the time Tuesday rolls around, he's pretty much ready to do his phone-in media thing for Isles mini-camp.

He's been off the hockey radar for months, because the media kinda forgets about you if you're not in a highlight reel, so he's not expecting many interviews. He calls in fifteen minutes before he's supposed to start, just so he can do a sound check and go over everything with Michele, the PR rep.

After the tech guys give him the green light, Michele sits in front of the camera and gives him a friendly smile. "Okay, Dylan. You've got a dozen reporters waiting, all from local news outlets. We've told them to keep all questions hockey-related, so if they ask something personal, just give them a standard 'only answering hockey questions' blurb. I'll be physically in the room and if they get too off track, I'll jump in, but for the most part we'd like you to handle this."

"Thanks," Dylan says, relieved he won't have to keep things on track by himself.

"Do you have any questions for me before we start?" Michele asks.

Dylan shakes his head. "I think I'm better off to just get into it, and try not to worry too much."

"That's the spirit!" she says cheerily. "It's only fifteen minutes; you'll be fine. Let's do this."

It actually does go by fairly quickly; the first question is about his due date, but it leads from there into questions about recovery time and when they can expect to see him skating. There's a lot about his thoughts on the upcoming season and where he thinks he'll fit in, and honestly, it's a lot like any other media thing Dylan's ever had to do. He has the sneaking suspicion that they're giving him softball questions, because nobody wants to be famous for making a pregnant dude cry. Michele calls time when Dylan finishes up with a question about his workout regime, and the reporters don't push for more, which pretty much confirms it.

He talks with Michele for a while to get an idea for how well she thinks it went. She gives him a few notes for the future, but overall it was a pretty smooth interview. He signs off feeling pretty good about the day, then texts Mitch to let him know that his media stuff is done and he's allowed to come home now.

Mitch replies with a keysmash, quickly followed by a snap. Apparently one of his friends has stolen his phone to document the rest of them burying Mitch in a cuddle pile.

Dylan grins and snaps them a thumbs-up. It's good for Mitch to spend time with non-baby people. Dylan should call his mom to talk about party stuff, anyway.

He updates his mom on all of Mitch's lists and the few new RSVPs they've gotten; Mikey is absolutely crushed that he won't be able to be there, but Dylan had firmly told him that he wasn't allowed to even try to weasel out of prospect camp. He's pretty sure Little Ryan and Big Matt are going to have some sort of terrible Mikey-related revenge, but he's prepared for it.

Mom assures him, just like Bonnie did, that Brinksy's mostly harmless. "It's a good surprise," she promises.

"Good," Dylan says. He's still not completely convinced that Brinksy isn't somehow slipping something past the Mom Squad, but he does feel better about it for the most part.

"Okay, honey, take care of yourself," Mom says, "and I'll see you for lunch next week."

"Monday," he promises before they hang up. They've been texting about it, and Dylan's a little apprehensive, but they have to actually spend time together if Dylan's going to be able to really heal from this whole mess.

He stretches out on the bed, intending to look up some things, but he falls asleep. 

He wakes up to an absolutely amazing smell, and when he blinks his eyes open Mitch is smiling softly at him from the doorway. "Dinner's ready," he says.

"Fooooood," Dylan coos, levering himself out of bed.

Mitch catches him as he walks into the hallway. "Dinner tax," he says, grinning up at Dylan. "Gotta kiss me or you can't eat."

Dylan grabs the front of Mitch's shirt and hauls him up on his toes. He leans down until their lips are almost brushing. "If I kiss you twice, does that mean I get seconds?"

Instead of replying, Mitch closes the gap.

It's definitely more than two kisses later when someone starts coughing really loudly from down the hall. "Mitch, Mom says if you don't get downstairs in the next five minutes she's giving your steak to the cat," Chris calls out.

Dylan lets go of Mitch and steps back. "Wait, there's steak? You didn't tell me there was steak!"

Mitch bites his lip, and drops his voice down low. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Dylan says. He reaches out and takes Mitch's hand. "Let's go eat, and then we can lock ourselves upstairs and find something dumb on Netflix."

Mitch waggles his eyebrows. "Netflix and chill."

"That depends on how much steak I eat," Dylan says. "And how much your daughter wants to do gymnastics."

"I could never compete with steak," Mitch replies, because he's a smart guy.

Dylan leans in and kisses him once more before heading downstairs. "Food, Netflix, possibly chill," he says. "Always good to have a plan."

Dinner is great, but dessert is better. They curl up together and put a space documentary on Netflix, and then they do indeed chill. Apparently Mitch has gotten over his fears about his giant dick. Dylan's pretty happy about this new discovery, all told.

He falls asleep feeling pretty satisfied with life.

-0-

Dylan's expecting a few trades to happen around the league before free agency starts, but Wednesday is beyond crazy. He calls Connor the second the notification hits his screen.

"What the fuck!" Dylan says instead of hello.

"I don't know," Connor says, and he sounds... not great. "They traded Hallsy. _Hallsy_. I can't..."

Dylan swallows hard. They'd all thought Hall was pretty much safe, as close to a captain as the Oilers were willing to get until Connor was ready. "I'm sorry, Davo," he says. "This is... this sucks."

Connor sighs. "I know it's just part of hockey, but this is the first time I didn't see it coming."

"Is he okay?" Dylan asks. He'd been relieved at his own trade, but he knows his wasn't the normal situation.

"Not really. He _just_ got his shit together with Ebs, and now..." Connor trails off, but Dylan has a pretty good idea what he's thinking.

"Shit," Dylan says.

"Pretty much," Connor says. He pauses for a few seconds before adding, "Ryan's flying back here tonight."

Dylan breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. Do you want company until he gets here?"

"No," Connor says. "I mean, yeah, yes, but... I need to call a bunch of people, figure out Oilers stuff. Ryan's plane lands in, like, five hours, and my family's home, so..." He sighs. "This is probably why Ryan thinks they're giving me the C this year."

"You deserve it," Dylan replies. He has faith in Connor, 100%.

"We'll see," Connor says, sighing again. "Thanks for calling, Dyls. I'll text you if anything changes, okay?"

"Text me whenever you want," Dylan corrects, "up to and including keysmash feelings."

"You're the best," Connor says before he hangs up.

Dylan texts Mitch to let him know Sad Davo Alert is only in the yellow, not red. Mitch texts back to let Dylan know he's getting all the Sad Davo Food anyway, just in case.

_pick up Sad Nuge Food too_ , Dylan advises. _the big reunion is tonight._

_what do Sad Nuges like???_ Mitch texts back.

Dylan thinks about it for a while before giving up. _ask connors mom._

_what if i just get all this,_ Mitch sends back, along with a photo of a shopping cart that's completely full of pretty much every kind of junk food imaginable.

Dylan laughs to himself. _don't lie the skittles r 4 u_.

_and the speck!_

_she does love skittles _, Dylan acknowledges.__

__Mitch sends back a string of heart-eyes emoji, so Dylan considers the discussion closed. He gets home about half an hour later, and Dylan helps him unload a truly ridiculous amount of crap from the car. They spend the evening with Mitch's family, very obviously not talking about any of the crazy trades of the day._ _

__"You're hanging out with Crouser tomorrow, right?" Dylan asks as they're getting ready for bed._ _

__"That's the plan," Mitch replies. "His camp starts the same day as mine, so we have time to kill."_ _

__"Nice," Dylan says. "Kick his butt at road hockey while I'm at JT's, okay?"_ _

__Mitch snorts. "You mean while you're at JT and Ryan's love nest."_ _

__Dylan makes a pained noise. "Please don't make me think of it that way. It's a house of hockey and planning."_ _

__"I don't care what you call it, or how much they try and weasel their way out of _labels_ ," Mitch says, grinning. "It's totally a love nest. Make sure you call before you drive over there, or you never know what you'll walk in on."_ _

__"I'm divorcing you," Dylan says, hitting him with a pillow. "I'm leaving you for someone who doesn't make me think about my brother's sex life."_ _

__"I'm filing for joint custody of the otter," Mitch teases. "Chris will back me up."_ _

__"I cannot wait until Chris starts seeing someone," Dylan grumbles, climbing into bed and arranging his pillows. "I'm going to get so much mileage out of that."_ _

__Mitch puckers up and plants an obnoxiously wet kiss on Dylan's cheek. "I love you too."_ _

__"Go to sleep," Dylan whines. He tugs Mitch in closer and wraps himself around him. "Shh. Quiet time."_ _

__Mitch snickers to himself for a while, and falls asleep smiling. Dylan's tempted to poke him in the ribs. Sleeping is probably the better part of valor, though, so he closes his eyes and drifts off._ _

__By the time Dylan checks his email late the next morning, he's already been given access to a folder that contains all of the training camp video so far. He's got a date with his brother and JT to go over it, so he texts that he's on his way and gets going. He stops by Connor's house on the way and lets the Sad Oilers take their pick of Mitch's junk food shopping frenzy. They take a surprising amount of it, but Connor's eyes are red around the edges and Nuge looks ready to flip tables, so Dylan keeps his mouth shut and gives each of them a hug before heading on his way._ _

__Ryan's waiting at the front door when Dylan pulls up at JT's, and he rushes over to help with the _heavy lifting_._ _

__"Stop," Dylan says, slapping his hands away. "It's just a bag of Skittles and stuff."_ _

__"If I help, you might share," Ryan says, tugging on the bag._ _

__"Fine, but if you steal my Skittles I'm telling Mom," Dylan warns._ _

__"He won't," JT says, appearing in the doorway from out of nowhere. "He's got his own diet cheat food, and Skittles are pretty far down the list."_ _

__Dylan lets go of the bag, and Ryan stumbles back a step. "Dude, if you get injured trying to snarf junk food I'm telling everyone it's from _off-ice activities_ ," he teases, waggling his eyebrows in Ryan's general direction._ _

__"You didn't bring Oreos, so I'm probably safe," Ryan says, looking into the bag._ _

__"Connor needed the Oreos more," Dylan replies, heading for the house. "He has a lot of feelings to drown with sugar."_ _

__JT shakes his head. "Still can't believe it," he mutters as Dylan walks in. "Hallsy and PK, one right after the other. What a shitty day."_ _

__Dylan winces. He'd kinda forgotten that JT is close with PK. Maybe there's a club for initials-nicknamed people? Then again, the third member of their club is nicknamed Stammer, so maybe it's an in-joke sort of thing._ _

__Unlike most people, JT manages to keep his eyes on Dylan's face instead of gawking at his belly. "Your media thing went well," he says. "How's everything else going?"_ _

__Dylan laughs. "It's a good thing I have a million helpers, 'cause there's a million things to do. Otherwise I'm great."_ _

__"Good," JT says. "Anything you need extra hands for, just call, got it?" He holds both his hands out and waves them a little. "Other than training, we're not doing much right now."_ _

__"As soon as we pick a moving day I'll let you know," Dylan promises._ _

__"Gotta pick a house first," Ryan says. "Unless you've got news for us?"_ _

__Dylan flaps a hand at him. "We're working on it. Can't rush Connor and Nuge's forever home."_ _

__Ryan and JT share a pretty significant look, but neither one of them seems willing to share what it's actually about. "So," JT says after a moment. "What video did they send you?"_ _

__"Scrimmage, and some player interviews." Dylan shrugs. "Guess they want to save me from having to Google-stalk potential teammates."_ _

__"Don't Google," Ryan and JT say in almost scary unison. They give each other another one of those looks before Ryan goes on. "Seriously, don't. Follow them on Twitter, friend them on Facebook, look at nothing else."_ _

__Dylan grins. "Okay, Dads. But just so you know, I have met hockey players before. I know what they're capable of."_ _

__"It's more the media," JT says, shrugging. "You read a few things, you start to wonder. It's better to just not look at what people are writing about them."_ _

__Dylan raises an eyebrow and rests a hand on his stomach. "Yeah, I know that one, too. But thanks."_ _

__"Yeah, okay," JT says. "Let's watch some tape."_ _

__-0-_ _

__Dylan keeps his head down on Friday; with all the free agent news going around, he's a little afraid to look away from his phone lest he miss something. He and Mitch meet up with Connor and Nuge over the weekend to see a few houses, but otherwise they keep things low key. Most of their friends are getting ready to leave for various training camps, so nervousness is in the air and Dylan needs to keep reminding himself to relax_ _

__It helps that Taylor Raddysh is done with his camp. He's back in the GTA, and Dylan's Sunday plans are pretty much entirely Taylor-related._ _

__"Stromer!" Taylor yells in his face when he opens the door. Apparently someone—Dylan figures it was Brinksy, but Brinksy's admitting to nothing—told Taylor that Speck has started kicking, because his gaze immediately zeroes in on the bump. "Is she awake in there? Can I say hi?"_ _

__"No, she's not awake," Dylan replies. "I'm up and moving, so she's hibernating until I want to sleep."_ _

__Taylor's face falls. "Oh. I wanted to feel her kicking."_ _

__Dylan pouts. "I thought you were here to see me."_ _

__Taylor pats him on the shoulder. "Hi, buddy. It's good to see you, but the presents I brought are definitely not gonna fit you."_ _

__"Do I get to open them now?" Dylan makes grabby hands. "I wanna open them now."_ _

__"Do you think I'd mention presents and not bring them?" Taylor asks indignantly. "I'm not _Brinksy_."_ _

__Dylan shrugs. "You might've been saving them for the party. I can't read your mind."_ _

__"I have other stuff for the party," Taylor says. He sets his backpack down and unzips it, pulling out a couple of plastic bags. He looks sheepishly up at Dylan. "Also, these aren't really... wrapped like presents should be."_ _

__Dylan pulls out a tiny Bolts onesie. "If you paid for these, it still counts as a present whether it's wrapped or not."_ _

__"It's definitely a present," Taylor says, grinning. "Do you think she'll like it?"_ _

__"I think she'll drool over it," Dylan teases. "Thanks, Rads. It's adorable."_ _

__"She can match," Taylor says excitedly, shoving a smaller bag into Dylan's hands. He opens it to find the tiniest pair of socks he's ever seen, blue with white lightning bolts._ _

__Dylan runs his fingers over them, swallowing hard. "She's going to be so little."_ _

__"Well yeah," Taylor agrees. "Have you seen Marner?"_ _

__Dylan reaches out to whack him on the arm. "You know what I mean."_ _

__"Okay, yeah, she's going to be baby-sized, and that's pretty small," Taylor says, grinning._ _

__He pushes the last bag into Dylan's hands. "I know you don't want super girly stuff, but it was so fricking cute," he says._ _

__It's a tiny lacy headband, with a white bow bearing the Bolts logo. "Taylor," Dylan says, choking up, "I don't know what to say."_ _

__"Say you'll put her in it at least once," Taylor all but begs. "And send me a photo."_ _

__Dylan sniffles. "It's blue and white—Leafs and Isles colours. I can probably get away with putting her in it more than once."_ _

__Taylor beams at him. "Awesome."_ _

__"Okay, I need to stop looking at these or I'll cry," Dylan says._ _

__"Don't cry," Taylor says immediately, grabbing everything and stuffing it back into one of the plastic bags. "No crying. Marner would kill me."_ _

__Dylan flaps a hand at him. "Let's watch a movie or something. If I sit still for a while maybe she'll wake up for you."_ _

__They put on Die Hard, because why not, and Dylan settles in to watch. He starts feeling Speck stir a little over halfway through, and when the credits start to roll, he grins and grabs Taylor's hand. "Guess who wants to say thanks for the presents?"_ _

__Taylor's eyes light up as she kicks. "Wow. That must feel weird."_ _

__"Very," Dylan agrees. "It's pretty much her favourite thing to do, though."_ _

__Taylor leans down close to Dylan's belly button. "You shouldn't troll your dad."_ _

__Predictably, she kicks for his face._ _

__Dylan cracks up. "First thing I'm gonna have to teach her is not to get caught high-sticking."_ _

__"You're gonna be such a good skater," Taylor croons. "Gonna play forward like your dads, or D like Uncle Darren?"_ _

__Speck responds to those options by elbowing Dylan in the bladder. "Ow, okay, no more hockey talk," Dylan promises her, and gets up to go to the bathroom._ _

__When he comes back down, Taylor's poking at his phone. "Davo says I have to share you," he says dejectedly._ _

__Dylan grins. "He's bringing his _boyfriend_ ," he says, and Taylor's eyes light up._ _

__"Do you have streamers? We need streamers to celebrate this momentous occasion," Taylor says seriously._ _

__"I don't," Dylan says. "But I need to warn you: you guys think Mitch and I are gross, but you have _no idea_."_ _

__Taylor shakes his head. "Not possible. Davo has way better taste than you."_ _

__"They're sappy," Dylan says immediately. "Like. I can't even describe it to you."_ _

__"I guess I'll find out." Taylor shrugs. "Davo's still my first captain though."_ _

__"And you can still respect that," Dylan says, nodding. "But, like. Be prepared to lose teeth to how sweet they are."_ _

__Taylor's still half-heartedly trying to defend Connor's rep when there's a knock at the door._ _

__"It's open," Dylan calls, and a moment later, Connor and Nuge walk into the living room, holding hands._ _

__Taylor stares. "It's important to use the buddy system so you don't get lost."_ _

__Connor smiles and swings their hands. "Wouldn't want to lose this guy."_ _

__Nuge grins back at him, and it's like Dylan and Taylor are invisible._ _

__"Oh my god," Taylor whispers, sounding awed. "You were right."_ _

__Dylan wriggles back on the sofa. It's good to be right._ _

__Nuge beams at Connor for a solid ten seconds before he seems to remember that there's a reason they're not, like, currently making out in Connor's bedroom. He turns back to face Dylan. "Kate emailed all of us a few more listings. We figured we'd come over so we could talk about them."_ _

__"Mitch is out with Crouser," Dylan replies, "but we can make a start."_ _

__"Can I see?" Taylor asks, leaning forward a little. "Like, you don't have to take my opinion into account, obviously."_ _

__Dylan pats him on the shoulder. "I'll even let you hold my laptop."_ _

__Taylor leans his head onto Dylan's shoulder. "Changed my mind, you're my favourite captain. Sorry, Davo."_ _

__"Sugar muffin," Nuge says sadly. "Are you cheating on me?"_ _

__Dylan throws his arms around Taylor. "Sorry, sweetpea. This one gave me presents for Speck. I have to love him better now."_ _

__Taylor goes still at the nicknames. "Uh, can I opt out of this?" he asks warily. "Davo can be my favourite again."_ _

__Dylan ignores him, pulling up the first listing. "Ooh, jacuzzi!"_ _

__"Jacuzzi?" Taylor says interestedly, leaning back in. "Tell me more about the jacuzzi."_ _

__"Well, it's a big tub that you fill with water..." Davo starts, innocent expression firmly in place._ _

__Dylan ignores him and scrolls to the next listing. "Hey, Rads. This one has _two_ jacuzzis. One indoor, one outdoor."_ _

__Taylor snorts. "One for friends, one to defile."_ _

__Nuge waggles his eyebrows. "But which is which?"_ _

__"Jacuzzi roulette," Dylan jokes. "I like it."_ _

__"You're all gross," Taylor says, not sounding too upset about it. He points to another listing in Dylan's email. "What about that one?"_ _

__He clicks through, and Nuge snorts. "Mitch would hate that kitchen." It has a high ceiling, and cupboards that run all the way up._ _

__"Don't tell him I said this," Taylor says after a moment. "But I agree. It's so..."_ _

__"Colourful?" Connor supplies._ _

__Dylan can't help it; he cracks up. "It's like they found a sale on those trial size cans of paint," he says._ _

__"They coordinate!" Nuge protests._ _

__"Babe, no," Connor says fondly, patting Nuge's hand. "Bad cabinets, ugly paint job."_ _

__"It's a symphony of brown, for the tone deaf," Dylan adds._ _

__"Not that I know anything about buying houses," Taylor volunteers, "but I feel like 'the whole kitchen needs to be redone' is a pretty hard no, unless the rest of the house is amazing."_ _

__"I don't care about repainting, but the cupboards suck," Dylan agrees. He glances over the rest of the listing. "And the rest of it seems pretty generic."_ _

__"No jacuzzi," Taylor adds. "I vote this house sucks and you shouldn't buy it."_ _

__Dylan opens up the spreadsheet and adds the listing to their "Ew no" tab._ _

__"That's one down," Connor says. "Let's wade through the rest of them."_ _

__-0-_ _

__Dylan feels a little silly about it, but he sits in his car in front of his parents' house for a few minutes after he arrives. "It'll be fine," he mutters to himself, as if hearing the words can make it real. "Matty's gonna be there, and it'll be totally fine." And Dad won't be there, he thinks. One parent at a time._ _

__Dylan takes a deep breath and gets out of the car. "You can do this," he says to himself as he walks to the front door. He lets himself in and follows his nose to the kitchen. Something smells _amazing_. _ _

__He has to take a breath in the doorway of the kitchen. He's seen the scene in front of him countless times: his mom stirring a pot on the stove, listening to something on the radio while she works._ _

__"Hi Mom," Dylan says. It comes out croaky, like he's getting over a cold._ _

__She drops the spoon on the floor as she whirls around. "Oh, Dylan," she says, walking over quickly. She stops a few feet away. "I was a little worried you wouldn't come. I'm so glad to see you."_ _

__"Of course I came," Dylan replies. He shuffles forward, hesitating just within hugging distance._ _

__Mom breaks first, throwing her arms around him and hugging him close._ _

__Dylan's been taller than her for years, but when he closes his eyes it all melts away. He feels like he's a scared kid again, getting ready to move away from his family for the first time._ _

__"Hi," he mumbles into her hair._ _

__"I missed you, baby," Mom says, hugging him tighter._ _

__Dylan can't respond; he's afraid he'll burst into tears. He just hugs her tighter instead._ _

__She pulls back and cups his face in her hands. "I thought I told you to stop getting taller."_ _

__"I kept eating," Dylan says, trying for a smile. "So I kept growing."_ _

__Mom smiles back at him. "You're not the only one who keeps growing."_ _

__Dylan laughs and looks down at his belly. "I mean. She's getting there, I guess."_ _

__"Well, then, let's see if she's hungry." Mom steps back and goes over to the stove._ _

__"She's always hungry," Dylan says, following her._ _

__Mom rolls her eyes and grabs a clean spoon. "Takes after her father, then."_ _

__She serves him a giant bowl of chilli, and Dylan just barely remembers not to snatch it out of her hands. "Thanks, Mom."_ _

__She squeezes his hand and smiles. "I'm really glad you're here."_ _

__"Me too," Dylan replies. Mitch's mom is great, but her food just doesn't taste right. It doesn't taste like home._ _

__There's a loud thudding sound from the hallway, and a moment later, Matt appears. "Hey, you started without me?"_ _

__"The speck wants what the speck wants," Dylan says, grinning._ _

__Matt narrows his eyes. "You won't be able to use that excuse forever."_ _

__"Watch me," Dylan says. "Taking care of a baby will wipe me out. And then she'll learn to walk..."_ _

__"Oh, she'll be a terror by the time she learns to _crawl_ ," Mom teases._ _

__"And I'll just be eating whatever I can to keep my strength up," Dylan finishes._ _

__Matt looks back and forth between Mom and Dylan, squinting suspiciously. "I'm still the baby of the family for another three months."_ _

__"Take advantage while you can," Mom advises, serving him a bowl of chili._ _

__Dylan makes happy noises as he starts eating. "S'good," he says with his mouth full._ _

__Mom raises an eyebrow. "I didn't hear that."_ _

__"He said it's terrible and you should give the rest to me," Matt translates, reaching for Dylan's bowl._ _

__Mom smacks Matt's hand with the serving spoon. "Hands off my granddaughter's lunch, young man."_ _

__Matt turns his puppy-dog eyes on her. "But chili."_ _

__"But only grandchild," Mom replies._ _

__"I could..." Matt starts, and Dylan reaches out to slap his mouth across Matt's mouth before he can complete that thought._ _

__Mom sets down the spoon, folds her arms, and gives Matt a stone cold Mom Stare. "No, please, let him finish."_ _

__Matt says something against Dylan's hand, and Dylan pushes back against his face. "Nah, it's a lot quieter this way," he says, managing to eat with his other hand._ _

__"Well, I suppose practising your multi-tasking is helpful," Mom replies. She starts eating too, and Matt tries to wriggle out of Dylan's grip. "You did this to yourself, Matthew."_ _

__Matt makes a truly pathetic whining noise, and then he licks Dylan's palm._ _

__Dylan snorts. "I'm getting used to _way_ more gross things than a little spit, Matty." The last time he accidentally ate cheese it felt like he was going to puke for a week straight._ _

__He probably should have been prepared for Matt biting him, but somehow he's still surprised. "Ow! I can't believe you." Dylan lets go, and shakes out his hand._ _

__"I thought you were preparing for anything," Matt says innocently._ _

__Dylan scowls. "My baby won't be born with teeth." He checks his palm, and it has actual bite marks. "Mom, look what he did!"_ _

__Mom rolls her eyes. "I cannot wait for you to know what that sounds like from the other side."_ _

__Matt's very smug in his new freedom until Dylan steals his bowl of chili. "Mom," he whines, but Mom just rolls her eyes and eats her own chili._ _

__Eventually Matt stands up to go get himself another bowl, pouting all the way through his epic journey._ _

__"So," Mom says, scraping the last bite out of her bowl. "What have you been up to? Anything exciting going on?"_ _

__Dylan shrugs. "House hunting with Davo. Keeping my fingers crossed that my friends don't turn the party into a farce."_ _

__"That's fair," Matt chips in. "They're hockey players."_ _

__Mom swats at him. "I told them all that I'd tell their coaches if they pulled anything they shouldn't," she says. "And then I called most of the coaches, so I'm betting everyone coming has the fear of bag skates drilled into them."_ _

__Matt cracks up. "That'll do it. Hey Dyls, did you tell Mom about Mikey's clown pants?"_ _

__"I have pictures," Dylan says, grinning as he does the little shimmy dance that he now needs to do to access his phone in his pocket. He jolts a little when Speck decides to say hello. "Hey, Mom. Someone's awake and kicking." He motions to his belly. "Wanna feel?"_ _

__Mom tears up, and she's in such a hurry to stand up she almost knocks over her chair._ _

__Matt grins at him over the table. "Don't let her go to sleep," he instructs. "I wanna feel, too, and I'm totally telling Ryan."_ _

__Dylan smacks him in the arm. "I'm not letting you guys fight over who's her favourite uncle before she's even born." Torturing his brothers is _Dylan's _job.___ _

____"Like there's a doubt," Matt says, rolling his eyes hard. "Me. Obviously."_ _ _ _

____Mom ignores them both; it's a skill Dylan's sure she's had a lot of practice at. "Hello, precious girl," she says, resting a hand on Dylan's belly. She kicks right on cue, and Mom's smile gets wobbly. "Oh, hi," she says again, beaming down at Dylan's stomach._ _ _ _

____Dylan grins. "She's really chatty when she wants to be."_ _ _ _

____"I can't imagine where she gets that from," Mom jokes. "You're such a shrinking violet, Dylan. And Mitch is _terrible_ with the media."_ _ _ _

____Speck kicks again, and Mom motions Matt over. "Right here," she says, grabbing Matt's hand and curving it around Dylan's belly._ _ _ _

____Matt jumps when he feels her kick. "Hi, little speck. You surprised me."_ _ _ _

____"She's good at that," Dylan says. "She has definitely kicked a couple people in the face."_ _ _ _

____"Hell yeah!" Matt crows. "Gimme a high five!"_ _ _ _

____Speck is gratifyingly still._ _ _ _

____Matt pats Dylan's stomach. "I'll accept a low five."_ _ _ _

____She doesn't move at all, and Dylan doesn't bother trying to hide his grin._ _ _ _

____"You're just trying to lure me in," Matt says suspiciously. "You want to kick more people in the face. I blame Marner."_ _ _ _

____"I mean, she did kick _him_ in the face," Dylan says reasonably. "Nobody's safe."_ _ _ _

____Mom cracks up laughing, doubling over and wiping tears from her eyes. "That little girl is going to drive you nuts," she manages to say between fits of giggles. "And you deserve every minute of it."_ _ _ _

____"I'm okay with it," Dylan says, shrugging and patting his belly. Speck kicks for him, because she's the best baby in the world._ _ _ _

____-0-_ _ _ _

____Dylan manages to talk Mitch into staying with the team in Toronto for the duration of Leafs rookie camp by claiming brother time with Ryan and, by extension, JT. It takes a lot of Netflix and chill to convince Mitch he'll be fine, but that's a bonus in Dylan's book._ _ _ _

____Dylan's actually looking forward to spending some quality time with Ryan; it'll probably be a little weirder to spend so much time with JT now that they're officially teammates and JT and Ryan are less officially some sort of together, but whatever._ _ _ _

____JT looks confused when he opens the front door. "Are you early?"_ _ _ _

____"Uh," Dylan says. "No? Unless I fucked up what time I was supposed to be here." He looks closer. "Are you awake? Have you had coffee?"_ _ _ _

____"No," JT says sadly. "Ryan got a new kitchen thingie and it's holding my coffee hostage."_ _ _ _

____Dylan bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing in his face. "Okay, buddy. If you take my bag to my room, I'll figure out your coffee machine."_ _ _ _

____JT smiles softly and takes Dylan's bag. "Thank you."_ _ _ _

____He heads off somewhere down the hall, and Dylan goes to investigate the coffee machine. It's the kind that brews the entire pot of coffee at once and then dispenses it one cup at a time, and there's a clearly labelled bright red lever for dispensing. Dylan snorts as he pushes it and coffee drips into the mug; pre-coffee John Tavares strikes again. Ryan was kinda mean, not making him a cup before he went out for a run or whatever. Maybe there's trouble in paradise?_ _ _ _

____JT walks back in before Dylan can contemplate it too much, and he beelines for Dylan, making grabby hands. "Coffee," he says happily before knocking back half the mug in one go._ _ _ _

____Dylan lets him do his thing; it doesn't take long for him to drain the whole mug. When he does, he looks marginally more awake, and he blinks at Dylan. "How do you make it work?" he asks, frowning at the machine. "I put the water and the coffee in and hit go, but then there was no coffee. Just coffee smells."_ _ _ _

____Dylan reaches for a new mug, sticks it under the machine, and hits the lever. JT's eyes go comically wide. "Oh," he says, reaching for the new mug. He hesitates with his hand a few inches away. "Uh, do you want that one, or can I bring it upstairs for Ryan?"_ _ _ _

____"No, go ahead." Dylan's proud that he manages to wait until JT's out of the room before reacting. They're so fucking _cute_. He makes himself a cup and sits down to wait. Ryan's much better at mornings, so he probably won't have to wait long to say hi._ _ _ _

____Sure enough, Ryan stomps down the stairs before Dylan's finished his coffee. He's still wearing his pajamas, and his hair is sleep-ruffled. "Did he break it?" is the first thing out of Ryan's mouth._ _ _ _

____Dylan snorts. "He got halfway through the process and gave up."_ _ _ _

____Ryan sighs. "Try to do something nice for a guy," he mutters as he refills his mug._ _ _ _

____"You slowed down his caffeine injection," Dylan points out. "Nice gesture, but you could've thought it through some more. Or called me."_ _ _ _

____"But now he doesn't have to wait for new cups to brew," Ryan protests. "It's already in there! He just has to push the lever!"_ _ _ _

____"You know that, and I know that. Sleepwalking JT knows nothing." Dylan reaches out and pats Ryan on the hand._ _ _ _

____Ryan sighs. "Maybe I can put the Keurig back out," he says. "Is it weird to have two coffee machines?"_ _ _ _

____"Given how much JT is not a morning person?" Dylan shakes his head. "Definitely not weird."_ _ _ _

____JT chooses that moment to wander back in. He stares at the coffee machine for a long moment before cautiously putting his cup into it and pushing the lever. When the coffee starts dispensing, he beams at his cup like Mitch does at ultrasound photos._ _ _ _

____Ryan's stare is hilarious mix of fondness and bewilderment. "Sure, now he gets it," Ryan mutters._ _ _ _

____"It's red," JT says. "I should have noticed that."_ _ _ _

____"You should go back to bed," Dylan advises, "before you hurt yourself."_ _ _ _

____"No," Ryan cuts in hastily. "Not after two cups of coffee, no way." He turns to JT. "Remember the bunny dream."_ _ _ _

____"Why would you remind me about the bunny dream?" JT asks hollowly._ _ _ _

____"So you don't think going back to sleep is a good idea," Ryan replies. "Get changed and we'll go for a run, okay?"_ _ _ _

____JT sighs, flaps a hand at him, and heads upstairs with his coffee._ _ _ _

____Dylan waits until he finishes clomping up the stairs to ask, "What bunny dream?"_ _ _ _

____"I don't actually know," Ryan says. "He went back to bed after coffee a few months ago, and I found him an hour later staring at the ceiling and muttering about bunnies."_ _ _ _

____Dylan rests his chin on his hand. "This is gonna be fun."_ _ _ _

____"Sure is," Ryan agrees. "So, what are our plans for today?"_ _ _ _

____"Matty said something about coming over," Dylan says, shrugging. "There might be McLeods, but I don't know when. Maybe tomorrow."_ _ _ _

____Ryan grins. "The Matts and the Ryans, back together again."_ _ _ _

____"Mikey and I are going to run away together," Dylan threatens, like he has pretty much every summer for the past ten years. "You guys can deal with your samey-namey thing without us."_ _ _ _

____"So you're going to pick something special and unique for the speck?" Ryan asks._ _ _ _

____Dylan groans. "We have a list," he says. "We have a few lists. First names, middle names, names that will not be used under any circumstances..."_ _ _ _

____"Ooh, tell me about the last one!"_ _ _ _

____"Pierre Don Cherry," Dylan says flatly, and is rewarded by Ryan shuddering._ _ _ _

____"Okay, you're right, I don't want to know," Ryan replies._ _ _ _

____"I tried to warn you," Dylan says, grinning._ _ _ _

____"Tell me something else," Ryan demands. "Anything else."_ _ _ _

____Dylan hums a little. "I want to throw a party for Mikey," he says. "Like, after he gets back from camp, I think. He's gonna miss the baby shower fiasco and he's super bummed about it."_ _ _ _

____Ryan grins. "Well you're back in the ‘sauga now. Co-conspirators abound."_ _ _ _

____"We can't tell Little Ryan or Big Matt," Dylan says immediately. "At least not until Mikey leaves. They're so bad at secrets."_ _ _ _

____"Well, you've got Best Ryan and Best Matt," Ryan replies. "We can let the lessers in on it later."_ _ _ _

____"You're plotting already?" JT says, coming back into the room._ _ _ _

____"Some of us are already awake," Dylan says dryly._ _ _ _

____"And some of us are happy to have rescued our baby brothers from Markham," Ryan adds, making a disgusted face._ _ _ _

____JT raises an eyebrow. "You got something against Markham I should know about?"_ _ _ _

____"Yeah," Ryan says. "It's _Markham_."_ _ _ _

____JT drops a kiss on the top of Ryan's head and goes to get more coffee. Apparently he forgot Dylan's even in the room._ _ _ _

____Ryan definitely hasn't; he's red as a tomato and won't look Dylan in the eye. "So, party," he says, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. "We're going to do his whole house up with streamers, right? Devils colours."_ _ _ _

____"Yes, absolutely." Dylan has plenty of time to tease Ryan later; right now he has mayhem to direct._ _ _ _

____-0-_ _ _ _

____Dylan's really glad he decided to spend Mitch's prospect camp in Mississauga. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed spending time with his brothers and the McLeods until he sees them every day, and he's managed to start a collection of photos he's mentally tagging as "Ryan and JT's wedding collage."_ _ _ _

____They all converge upon the street in front of the McLeod home on Sunday morning. Mikey has to leave for Devils camp on Monday, but there's time for a McLeod-Strome road hockey game, with bonus JT. Dylan promises to be a fair and impartial ref; sadly, no-one believes him._ _ _ _

____Street hockey rules mean that Dylan gets to pick goalies, so naturally he makes JT and Little Ryan mind their nets. He sort of wanted to make Mikey do it, but the last thing he needs is to be the reason Mikey shows up to his first rookie camp with a black eye. They really need to get some goalie masks._ _ _ _

____They're just about to drop the ball when Dylan's phone starts blaring. He holds up his hand, grinning at the bitching from both sides, as he checks his texts. "New plan," he announces, tapping out a response. "JT, you've been saved from goalie. We've got a ringer for your team."_ _ _ _

____"Thank fuck," JT mutters, standing out of his crouch and popping his spine. "Who'd you get?"_ _ _ _

____Dylan waves his phone. "Davo finally managed to get out of bed."_ _ _ _

____"Wait," Little Ryan yelps, standing up too. "You better put him in goal. No way am I putting myself between the net and his slapshot."_ _ _ _

____"It's not fair to have two NHL players on one team," Mikey joins in. "We should get one."_ _ _ _

____JT makes an offended noise._ _ _ _

____"You were in goal before, that doesn't count," Mikey says, flapping his hand at JT. "If you were Carey Price, then it would count, but no offense, dude. I've seen you try goalie."_ _ _ _

____JT rolls his eyes. "No-one puts Connor in the corner, I guess."_ _ _ _

____Dylan snorts, but he definitely catches Little Ryan and Matty shrugging at each other. "Kids these days," he says, sighing dramatically._ _ _ _

____"Tell me about it," JT mutters, opening the cooler to grab a bottle of water. "Want one?"_ _ _ _

____"Please, yeah," Dylan says, making grabby hands. JT tosses him one, and Dylan sincerely considers pouring half of it over his head instead of drinking it. It's insanely hot._ _ _ _

____Big Ryan stops in front of them, frowning. "Maybe you should be in the shade, Dyls."_ _ _ _

____"Mom's got a huge umbrella in the garage," Big Matt volunteers. "Ref shade tent?"_ _ _ _

____"Sounds good to me," Dylan replies. It's possible he overestimated his ability to handle a summer heatwave at the end of his second trimester._ _ _ _

____"Okay, break," Mikey calls. Dylan doesn't know if they actually planned it ahead of time or if their families are just that much in sync, because the younger brothers immediately head for the McLeod garage to get the umbrella while the older brothers herd Dylan back into the wonderfully air conditioned house._ _ _ _

____When Connor gets there, he makes an approving noise at the setup. Dylan's starting to wonder how many people Mitch recruited to keep an eye on things while he's at camp. He's starting to suspect it's everyone Mitch has ever come into contact with._ _ _ _

____"Okay boys," Dylan says, choosing to ignore the hovering. "Let's get this hockey on the road."_ _ _ _

____Nuge holds his hand up for a high-five, and JT laughs. Everyone else groans; this is why he has favourites._ _ _ _

____"You're my linesmen, and I expect you to take the job seriously," Dylan informs JT and Nuge. Then he pats his stomach. "Don't make me go to video."_ _ _ _

____"Is video code for snack time?" Nuge asks, raising an eyebrow. "Because I might vote for video."_ _ _ _

____"Huh. Now that you mention it, that's a good code," Dylan concedes._ _ _ _

____"Any other special notes in the playbook?" JT asks._ _ _ _

____"Mikey kinda had a point before," Dylan says, turning to Nuge. "It's a little unfair for Ryan and Connor to be on the same team."_ _ _ _

____Nuge raises an eyebrow. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you mean your brother, out of the three Ryans here?"_ _ _ _

____"You are correct," Dylan agrees. He runs Nuge through the nickname-rules for calling penalties on the Strome-McLeod brood, watching out of the corner of his eye as JT's eyes bug out._ _ _ _

____"That's intense," he says when Dylan finishes. "Also kind of a lot to remember. I'm probably gonna fuck it up."_ _ _ _

____Dylan pats him on the shoulder. "Maybe you should just be water boy."_ _ _ _

____"At least Dylan Larkin isn't here," Nuge jokes. "Or Dylan Demelo."_ _ _ _

____"I'm an original," Dylan says solemnly. "Nuge, I nominate you to tell Davo he has to be in goal for Team McLeod. JT, you get to tell Ryan he's goalie for Team Strome."_ _ _ _

____"Home wrecker," Nuge mutters before heading off to do his job._ _ _ _

____"You can tell Mikey he's been traded," Dylan offers. "If you think that'll go better."_ _ _ _

____Nuge flips him the bird and keeps walking._ _ _ _

____JT scowls. "Did he just—"_ _ _ _

____"Oh my god." Dylan cracks up laughing because JT's _face_. "I thought Mitch was bad, but you—"_ _ _ _

____JT scowls harder. It doesn't help Dylan stop laughing at all._ _ _ _

____"I bet right now you'd throw your shirt over a puddle for me," Dylan teases._ _ _ _

____JT's hands twitch. Jesus, Ryan's living with a Disney prince. Dylan's a little sad that Ryan's G-negative, because he'll never get to see how hilarious JT would be if it was actually _their_ kid. But that doesn't mean he can't share the moment. "Hey Ryan," Dylan calls out. "Come look at this."_ _ _ _

____"You shut your mouth," JT mutters, finally heading off to break the goalie news to Ryan. "I will give you the really scratchy blanket for the rest of your visit."_ _ _ _

____Dylan grins. "No you won't. You're too much of a pushover."_ _ _ _

____JT makes the best faces, Dylan decides, grinning as he goes to talk to Mikey. This game is going to be interesting, that's for sure._ _ _ _


	25. Chapter 25

Team Strome wins, because of course they do. Also, JT and Dylan might combine to call a few penalties in their favor, but nobody's telling. They spend the rest of Sunday hanging around and doing nothing, which is nice. Dylan feels like he's been doing a lot of nothing lately, but doing nothing with the McLeod crew is always a treat. Matt tells the McLeods blatant lies about how boring Dylan is these days, and Dylan throws popcorn at him until JT's sad faces over the mess become too much. Basically, it's a great day, and Dylan goes to bed pretty happy about things.

Monday passes in a blur of party planning and trying to fend off Matt's increasingly terrible ideas for baby names.

"Oh god, don't give him ideas," Ryan says, shuddering. "Dylan has enough horrible ideas on his own,"

"I'm not naming my kid Edith Gertrude," Dylan says flatly. "Or after any of the Ninja Turtles."

"But she's a fighting machine!" Matt protests.

Ryan pokes Matt in the cheek and just keeps pushing until Matt is forced to twist away. "Keep in mind that you're probably gonna have kids way after Dylan's done with that," he advises. "So the worse you are now, the more effort he's gonna put into payback when you're going through this."

"But Raphael is such a cool name," Matt says wistfully.

"Get that in writing," Dylan says to Ryan. "Record him saying that. I'm going to need it in five to ten years."

"Twenty years," Matt corrects. "I'm saving myself until your kid's old enough to babysit."

"And she's not going to be old enough for that until she's twenty?" Dylan says, blinking. "I guess that means you don't get to babysit, by your own rules."

Matt rolls his eyes. "There won't be anyone for her to babysit until I'm done with my career. Unlike some people, I know how to use protection."

"It's super different from putting it on a banana," Ryan says seriously. "You should probably practice."

Right on cue, JT walks in with the banana smoothies he'd promised to make for brunch. "No molesting my food," he says sternly.

"But how will I learn?" Matt asks, batting his eyelashes.

Dylan snorts. "If your idea of protection is pouring banana smoothies into a condom, then I might have a niece or nephew before my kid even learns to walk."

"You don't even deserve these." JT turns on his heel and takes the smoothies back to the kitchen.

"But Speck is hungry," Dylan whines. JT stops and turns, considers him for a moment, then hands him one before taking the rest away.

"I hate you both," Ryan complains. When he gets up to follow JT, Matt cat calls them.

"This is why nobody wants to sleep with you," Dylan points out, slurping at his smoothie.

"Maybe no-one meets my standards," Matt says. "Not everyone falls dick-first into their frenemy."

Dylan grins, all teeth. "If we want to get technical about it, he fell dick-first into me first."

They trade insults back and forth until Ryan threatens to throw them both out. "I do not need to know this much about either of you."

Matt turns his attention to insulting Ryan. It's amusing to watch for a little while, but eventually Dylan pulls out his phone and texts Mitch. _miss you. how's camp_

_miss you too_ , Mitch replies instantly, with something like ten sadface emoji.

_how's camp_ , Dylan asks again.

_good but im glad its almost over_ , Mitch texts back. _free night tonite before ending shit tomorrow_.

Dylan grins at his phone. _got plans 4 tonite yet?_

_was kinda hoping i could spend some time with this hot guy i married_ , Mitch replies. This time it's ten winking emojis, four eggplants, and a peach.

_I think that can be arranged._ Dylan takes a selfie and sends it to Mitch. _ok if this guy tags along?_ He's more of a sweaty mess than the hot guy Mitch described.

_ooh forget the dude i married i'm definitely getting on that_ , Mitch sends back.

_run away w me,_ Dylan replies. _somewhere it isn't hot AF._

Mitch sends a shirtless selfie, and Dylan has to leave the room so he won't pop wood in front of everyone.

Ryan and Matt are still arguing, and when JT sees Mitch's face on Dylan's phone, he just nods a little. He's the best future brother-in-law ever. Ryan and JT may not realise yet that they're practically married, but Dylan's already planning his speech.

Mitch answers right away when Dylan FaceTimes him. "Hey," he says, tone of voice really soft when compared with the blinding smile on his face.

"Hey yourself," Dylan replies, waggling his eyebrows. "Trying to cool down by stripping?"

Mitch's grin widens. "Who said anything about cooling down? I've got two hours before my roommate gets back. I'm planning on making a mess out of myself."

Dylan makes the command decision to take his pants off before he gets uncomfortable. "Tell me more."

"I fell asleep last night thinking about getting you naked on this bed," Mitch replies. "The sheets are so soft, and there's a ton of space."

Dylan groans. "Don't tempt me to drive over there."

"We don't have enough time for that," Mitch says, sounding regretful. "I'll be home tomorrow, though."

"Tell me more about what your dirty mind came up with last night," Dylan replies, stretching out on the bed.

"I can do that," Mitch says. "Wanna get all the way naked first, though?"

Dylan runs a hand down his chest, stopping at the hem of his shirt just to make Mitch squirm. "You first."

"Babe," Mitch says, smiling slowly. He pans his phone back, revealing a not-at-all startling lack of clothing. "Trust me. I was first on the naked train."

Dylan grins back at him. "Well then, give me a minute to climb aboard."

Mitch waggles his eyebrows outrageously. "I like the sound of that."

"Then you're really going to like the view." Dylan strips off his shirt, and reaches for the lube.

"It's my favourite view," Mitch agrees. "God, you're..."

Dylan looks at his screen when Mitch trails off, and there's a faint blush on his face. "I'm what? Other than pregnant. I got the memo on that one."

"Gorgeous," Mitch says, and his blush deepens. "I've been away from you for less than a week and I somehow managed to forget."

"You already put a ring on it," Dylan replies. "You don't have to bullshit me."

Mitch shakes his head a little. "Maybe someday," he says quietly. "Maybe it'll be me, and you'll see what I mean."

Dylan swallows hard. He doesn't even know what to say to that.

"I love you," Mitch adds. As if Dylan could forget that.

Dylan beams. "I love you too. When I see you tomorrow it's going to be epic."

"Damn right it will," Mitch says, grinning at him. "But getting back to the task at hand..." He trails his hand down his body and cups his dick.

"Mmm, you have nice hands," Dylan observes.

"Rather be touching you," Mitch says. "C'mon, babe. Do it like I am."

Dylan gets some lube, slicks up his hand, and gets down to work.

"I want to be there," Mitch says, stroking himself firmly. "Or for you to be here. I don't care which, just wanna be with you."

"I've been watching your interviews, staring at your lips," Dylan confesses. "I want to fuck your face."

Mitch whines a little. "Tomorrow. Why can't it already be tomorrow?"

"Because it's today, and you need to come for me," Dylan replies. He thinks it's a pretty reasonable request.

"Not gonna be a problem," Mitch says, his breath hitching as he plants his feet and fucks into his fist.

"If I was there right now I'd make you scream," Dylan promises.

Mitch closes his eyes. "Tell me how," he all but begs.

"I'd get you on your knees, finger you open, and then make you wear a plug while I fuck your throat." Dylan strokes himself lazily. He's been on a hair trigger lately and he wants Mitch to come first.

"Fuck," Mitch keens. "Need you, Dyls, need you so much."

"Go ahead, I've got you," Dylan promises.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Mitch chants, thrusting into his hand so hard that his back arches when he comes all over his chest.

Dylan bites his lip and keeps his grip loose until Mitch opens his eyes.

Mitch gives him a sleepy, satisfied smile. "You're amazing, and I can't wait to get home tomorrow so we can do this in person."

"I'm not done yet," Dylan points out.

"If I was there in person," Mitch continues, dragging his fingers through the mess on his chest, "I'd be begging you to mess me up more."

"If you let me I'd come all over your face." Dylan tightens his grip, panting hard as he gets close.

" _Let_ you?" Mitch repeats. "Babe, I'd be begging you to sit on my chest so I'd be sure you got me good and dirty."

Dylan leans back against the pillows, letting his thighs fall open. "I want—Fuck, why isn't it tomorrow yet?"

"Soon," Mitch promises. "C'mon, babe. Come for me."

Dylan bites back the noises he wants to make.

"C'mon, Dyls," Mitch coaxes. "Close your eyes, pretend I'm there. Mess me up more."

Dylan comes so hard he spills over his hand, staining the sheets. Mitch talks him through it; it's nothing Dylan can focus on, not really, but it's nice to have his voice there.

"If you were here," Dylan mumbles, "I'd make you sleep in the wet spot."

"If I was there, I'd throw a towel over it and deal," Mitch says. "Anything to get to sleep next to you."

Dylan grins. "Ooh, towel! Good idea."

"Only the best for you," Mitch says, laughing a little. "Can't wait to get home tomorrow."

"Only question is, do you really want to have our big reunion at your parents' place?" Dylan teases.

Mitch raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you suggesting we get a hotel room?"

"I could come to you," Dylan offers.

"They're making us bring all our shit to the rink tomorrow morning," Mitch says, shaking his head. "I'll be heading to you right after we're done."

"So you want to fuck in my brother's guest room. Kinky," Dylan teases.

"You have to want payback for something," Mitch says, grinning. "We can be really loud while he's eating or something."

"I'm sure I'll think of something," Dylan replies. If it means Mitch being right there with him, he'll definitely find an excuse.

-0-

As much as Dylan really would like to scar Ryan for life with his really loud sex noises, pretty much all he actually wants to do when Mitch gets there is collapse into bed and cuddle. Ryan looks like he wants to chirp them, but JT elbows him in the side and they have a silent couple's fight.

"You just... let us know if you need anything," Ryan finally says.

Mitch grins obnoxiously, and Dylan drags him out of the room before he can say anything about Ryan being whipped. He doesn't speak until they're in the guest bedroom with the door firmly locked behind them, and then Dylan turns and tugs Mitch in. "I missed you," he mumbles into Mitch's hair.

"Same," Mitch says instantly, his arms coming up to hold Dylan close. "The guys were all chirping me about how homesick I was, and no part of me wanted to deny it."

Dylan laughs. "One look at your face and they'd know you were lying anyway."

"Not worth it," Mitch agrees. He pulls back a little, but doesn't really let go. "What are our plans for the next couple of days?"

"Last minute party stuff, house stuff, and that call-in thing with Sportsnet radio." Dylan doesn't have it in him to be any more eloquent than that; he has Mitch back.

"Oooh, house stuff," Mitch says. "That's tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, Kate has a couple more places for us to look at." Dylan sighs and flops down on the bed, dragging Mitch with him.

"We'll find a good one soon," Mitch promises. "Kate knows her shit."

Dylan knows that, logically, but he has visions of the speck sleeping in a gross hockey bag for her first week of life. "I just wish we were done already."

"Me too," Mitch says, snuggling up. "The sooner we close on a house, the sooner we can start, like, painting and shit. And then we can put the nursery together."

"Fuck," Dylan replies, placing a hand on his belly. "She's going to have her own room." He's so not ready to evict her yet.

"Yeah," Mitch says dreamily. "I can't wait to pick all the cute baby crap out."

Dylan nudges Mitch's ankle with his foot. "I can't wait to have somewhere to put all that stuff. We're going to have a mountain of presents to deal with after the party."

"I know," Mitch says happily. "It's gonna be great, Dyls."

"I hope so." Dylan presses close, wanting to touch Mitch everywhere he can reach. "She's going to be a person with her own bed and a whole dresser full of clothes. I kinda feel like she deserves a name."

"She really does," Mitch agrees. "Did you come up with something?"

Dylan rubs his nose on Mitch's shoulder, inching closer. "It's kinda hard coming up with something our friends don't already have dibs on," he admits, "but I've had time to read a lot of baby name books. What do you think about Aiden?"

"Aiden," Mitch says thoughtfully. "Aiden Marner-Strome. Baby Aiden."

"I think you mean Strome-Marner," Dylan says. "As the person currently making her, I call dibs."

Mitch beams. "Maybe I was saving the best for last."

"Strome-Marner," Dylan repeats, then he grimaces. "How bad do you think Don Cherry would screw it up?"

"I think we'd all be _Stromarner_ really quickly," Mitch says, making a face.

"Stromenov," Dylan replies. "Stromboli. Strummer."

Mitch laughs. "The way you feel about cheese right now, stromboli is a bad nickname."

Dylan makes a face. "Maybe your name can come first," he says grudgingly.

"Aiden Marner-Strome," Mitch tries again. "I think it works."

"You like it?" Dylan asks, a little hesitant. "I mean, I do, but if you don't we can go with something else."

Mitch kisses him, soft and sweet. "I like it. I like you."

"I like you too," Dylan says, smiling helplessly. "You're my second favourite."

Mitch rests his hand on Dylan's belly. "As long as Aiden is first, I don't mind being second."

The speck wriggles lazily under Mitch's hand, but she doesn't kick Dylan's spine. "I think she likes her name."

"Good," Mitch says. "I don't have a clue what her middle name should be, but we can probably wait a little longer on that. We got the hard one done, right?"

Dylan snorts. "Getting the hard one done is what got us in this mess."

"Best mess ever," Mitch says, undeterred.

Dylan has to duck his head, because Mitch's smile is too much. It's not exactly a new feeling.

"We're going to be unbeatable at three on three," Mitch continues. "People are going to fall on their asses in the face of her cuteness."

"We'll just put her in goal," Dylan suggests. "People would get close enough to take a shot, and then decide they'd rather lean in and say hi."

Mitch's eyes light up. He wriggles down the bed until his face is right next to Dylan's belly. "Hi, Aiden."

Dylan wants to make fun of him, but instead he's feeling a little choked up. He pushes his fingers through Mitch's hair and gives him a wobbly smile. "Pretty sure she's saying 'hi, Daddy.'"

Mitch grins back at him, wattage so bright Dylan feels a little singed. "We're gonna find a house, and we're gonna make it the best place ever for her," Mitch promises, leaning in to press a kiss to Dylan's belly.

Dylan feels like he's spent half his life following Mitch's lead, but if this is the result he's okay with it.

-0-

Dylan's not sure if Kate isn't a morning person or if everyone's catering to his newfound inability to rise and shine, but they don't start their house-hunting expedition until eleven. He tries to think positive while they're heading out to the first place: they _will_ find a house soon, and they'll move in before the season starts. It's a good thing Nuge is driving, though, because Dylan needs to hold Mitch's hand.

"I have a good feeling about today," Mitch murmurs, squeezing Dylan's hand.

Dylan gives him a wobbly smile. "You said that last time."

"I have a _better_ feeling this time," Mitch promises. "I really think we're getting close."

He's not wrong; one of the places they're going to today is a house they've seen before. Connor earmarked it while Mitch was gone, and they all want to take a second look. Dylan still doesn't feel like it's The One, but it's a step in the right direction. They go to that place first, and when they leave, Mitch agrees with their assessment. They _could_ live there, which is more than they've found so far, but they're all hoping to find something else.

The next place is fine, until Dylan goes into the en suite and tries to shut the door. His belly gets trapped against the counter, and he cracks up laughing. "We're gonna have to get this one," he calls. "I think I'm stuck in here."

Connor and Mitch rescue him; Kate looks mortified. "I'm so sorry," she says, pulling a bottle of water from her gigantic purse and holding it out like a peace offering. "I should have checked the actual dimensions on the bathrooms."

Dylan's still laughing as he takes the bottle of water. "I think we can cross this one off."

"Of course, of course," Kate says, tapping away at her phone. She scans whatever she's looking at while Dylan takes a few sips from his water, then nods. "You shouldn't get stuck in any rooms at the next place, provided you don't wander into either of the linen closets."

Nuge snorts. "I'm sure Dylan can restrain his enthusiasm for fluffy towels just this once."

"If I _must_ ," Dylan says, sighing theatrically.

"Some people can never get enough of coming out of the closet," Connor adds, shaking his head sadly.

"We're using glitter next time," Mitch says. "I don't think they let you bring glitter into a house you haven't paid for yet, so this one is out."

Kate's used to them all by now, so she smiles and nods. "No glitter until closing."

"Spoilsport," Nuge fake-mutters as they all head back to the cars.

They crank Beyoncé on the drive to the next place, and Dylan's officially in a good mood when they pull up. He's busy unbuckling himself when he hears Connor take a quick breath. "Whoa."

Dylan looks up and really takes a look at the house. It's set back from the road a bit, with a few nicely-kept trees in the fenced yard he can see from the road. The house itself has a nice brick look to it, and all the bushes and flowers and stuff make it look... homey.

Mitch squeezes Dylan's hand. "Told you I had a good feeling."

"Let's see the inside before Connor decides to buy it for the yard," Nuge says, climbing out of the car.

Connor keeps his mouth shut during the walk-through, but his eyes are round and shining like Bambi. Dylan can't help but feel a little excited, too; there's an attached garage, so they wouldn't have to worry about getting Aiden in and out of the house while it's raining or snowing or whatever, and there's laundry machines on the first _and_ second floors.

They walk into the kitchen, and Nuge elbows Connor. "Food closet," he mutters under his breath.

"I will tell Cameron about the thing with the silly string and the Pringles, and he will stop thinking you're cool," Connor says sweetly.

Nuge frowns. "I'll tell Adam about your Maple Leaf pajamas and he'll never stop ruffling your hair."

Connor raises an eyebrow. "I'll tell Ebs and Nursey about the—"

"You win," Nuge cuts in. "Jesus, you play dirty."

Dylan reaches forward and pats Nuge on the shoulder. "Never go in against a McDavid when pride is in the line."

Connor leans in and pecks Nuge on the cheek before taking his hand and dragging him into the pantry to look around. "Shelves!" he calls out excitedly.

"What was he expecting?" Mitch wonders.

"I'm not sure we're ready for the answer to that question," Dylan replies, grinning.

"I'm very sure I'm not," Kate says. "Also, one of you can go in after them. There's a backyard I want to show off, but I know what happens in closets." She raises an eyebrow and grins.

"If you defile it, you have to buy it," Dylan calls out.

"I don't think that's actually a deterrent," Nuge yells back.

Kate laughs. "I think that's my cue to give you boys your space." She heads out, ignoring the crashing sound from the pantry as Connor and Nuge realise a moment too late that she's still around. They emerge a minute later, all clothing on its appropriate owner and in mostly normal configurations. Connor's red as a tomato, though. Mitch wolf whistles, and then bravely hides behind Dylan.

"Let's go see the yard Kate's so excited about," Dylan says before it can escalate. She doesn't need to see grown hockey players in a slap fight.

They make their way through the back of the house and onto the deck. It's nice; the yard is indeed fenced in, and there are a bunch of trees and a nicely kept lawn. Dylan hears Nuge gasp softly just as Mitch squeezes his hand and points, and—oh.

Kate just smiles as they react to the toddler swing set.

"Is that included?" Connor asks, sounding a little strangled.

"It's set in concrete," Kate replies, "so you'd have a hard time moving it."

Dylan squeezes Mitch's hand back so hard it probably hurts. "Babe."

"Let's check out the upstairs," Mitch says faintly, but his eyes are glued to the swing.

There's nothing upstairs that would even remotely make the house a no-go; Dylan has plenty of room to move around in all of the bathrooms, and the room that was very clearly the previous occupants' nursery makes it easy to imagine baby things everywhere. He can picture holding Aiden, and showing her their new home.

Mitch leans his head against Dylan's shoulder as they stand in the nursery, and they just look in silence for a moment before he speaks. "Is this it, Dyls?"

Dylan takes a deep breath. "Yeah. I think this is it."

"Me too," Mitch says. "I can really see us here."

"I can see Aiden in the back yard," Dylan adds. "We could get her a wading pool next summer."

"She'll be a splashing terror," Mitch says, smiling. "We can get one of those baby picnic tables and put it on the porch. A place for snacks."

Dylan nods. "Snacks are important."

"As the current resident expert on snacking, I defer to your expertise," Nuge says, walking into the room. "So. Thoughts?"

"I love it," Dylan says. "I mean, there's no gym, but there's plenty of room downstairs for one."

"It hits everything on the checklist," Connor says. "And I'm pretty sure we were all sold as soon as we saw that swingset for Speck."

Mitch sighs. "It's adorable."

"Aiden's gonna love it," Dylan says, trying not to let his voice wobble.

Connor gasps like he's been checked hard. "Aiden?"

Dylan clutches at Mitch's hand. "Yeah. Aiden Marner-Strome."

"That's great," Nuge says, giving them the brightest non-Connor-related smile Dylan's ever seen from him. "So. Are we gonna get this house for baby Aiden, or do we want to keep looking?"

Connor wraps his arm around Nuge's waist. "Let's make an offer."

-0-

The phone-in interview on Thursday goes fine, and then Friday passes in a blur of last-minute party preparations and increasingly ridiculous snaps from Brinksy showcasing what Hawks camp is like. It's exhausting, and Dylan's grateful to collapse into bed and sleep by the end of it.

Saturday dawns hot and humid, which basically means it's July in Toronto. Getting ready is a mess; Mitch trips over his shoes, then drops his shirt on the floor. 

"I'd help you pick it up, but..." Dylan gestures to his belly.

"We don't have time for you to fall over and turtle on your back," Mitch says, leaning over and scooping it up with a quickness that Dylan envies.

Dylan smacks him on the ass. "Nervous much?"

"A little?" Mitch replies, standing and tugging his shirt on. "I mean, I guess it's not actually a big deal, but it feels like one."

"Yeah," Dylan agrees, pulling him in for a hug. "It's kinda like getting married all over again."

"I'm glad they're not making us do that," Mitch confesses, wrapping his arms around Dylan. "I kinda like our wedding being what it was. Is that weird?"

"It's ours. We didn't have to play nice in front of a crowd," Dylan replies. And that's the thing, really: so much of his relationship with Mitch has played out in front of an international audience.

Mitch pulls back and grabs Dylan's left hand, raising it to his mouth so he can press a kiss to Dylan's ring. "I'd marry you again, though. Just for the record."

"With Aiden as flower girl," Dylan says, breathless.

"We'll do it," Mitch promises. "In a few years. When she can walk in a big poofy dress without falling over."

Dylan grins. "She'll be the cutest ever. And we can ask them to put it in her draft footage."

"We'll get it on video from a bunch of angles," Mitch says. "I mean, every side is her best side, obviously, but this way we won't miss anything."

"She's going to hate us so much," Dylan replies, gleeful.

"I can't wait," Mitch replies. He leans in to give Dylan a quick kiss. "Speaking of not waiting, though, we should probably head over now."

"In a minute." Dylan could stay here forever.

"Putting it off isn't gonna make you want to leave any more," Mitch points out, but he doesn't move away.

They cuddle until Ryan knocks on the door. "Come on, I need to get over there and help set up!"

"We have a car," Dylan yells back. "You don't have to wait for us."

Ryan snorts loudly. "If I leave without you, you two will miss your own party, and then I'll have to deal with Mom," he says. "I don't think so. Let's go."

"Bridezilla," Mitch mutters, but he steps back.

"He's gonna be the worst," Dylan agrees. He reaches out to smooth a wrinkle out of Mitch's shirt. "Guess we gotta go, huh."

When they get downstairs, JT hands Dylan a cup of coffee and says nothing. Because he's the best.

"Favourite," Dylan says, patting him on the shoulder. "Apparently it's time to get this show on the road."

JT nods. "I'll see you later." He retreats, and Dylan finds himself frowning.

"Why doesn't he have to go?" he asks, trying not to whine.

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Because he's not family."

"Yet," Mitch says, and this is why Dylan loves him.

Ryan makes a frantic shushing noise, and herds them towards the door. Mitch, because he is a troll, starts singing Single Ladies.

"Wait," Dylan says when they're out of JT's earshot, "Mom said you're not bringing a plus-one."

"Mom is right," Ryan replies. "It happens occasionally. Try to contain your surprise."

Dylan turns to mouth _what the fuck?_ at Mitch.

Mitch doesn't even hesitate. He turns and walks back a few steps. "Hey, JT! Dylan and I want you to come!" Ryan looks like he wants to say something, but Dylan fixes him with a death glare.

JT comes walking in a second later. "Really? You guys want me there?" He actually sounds hopeful beneath his normal monotone, and Dylan wants to throttle Ryan for not inviting him like he'd assumed Ryan would.

He's going to have _words_ with Ryan. Or maybe he'll just let Mom know whose fault it is that they're adding an extra person at the last minute. "Of course," Dylan says simply. "We're coffee bros."

"Coffee bros for life," JT says seriously. "Should I just come now, or should I drive over later?"

Mitch hums. "We might need the extra car, for presents."

JT nods. "It's always good to know your role."

Ryan winces, and Dylan drags him towards the door before he can do anything else stupid. "See you in a couple of hours!"

JT just waves as they go.

They get in the car, and when Ryan pulls away from the curb Mitch blurts out, "Wow, you're the worst boyfriend ever."

"We're not boyfriends," Ryan mumbles, suddenly super invested in staring straight out the windshield.

"My bad, you're the worst exclusive, co-habitating fuckbuddy," Mitch corrects. "Dude, even if you _weren't_ sleeping together leaving him out would be a dick move."

"Inviting him seemed weird," Ryan tries to protest. "And then by the time I figured out I should've anyway, it was too late to not still be weird. I figured leaving it was the better option."

"Wrong move," Dylan says. He is so telling Mom. "Anyway, since when do you not tell me this shit?"

"You have other shit going on," Ryan says. "Like, I don't know, impending parenthood."

Dylan punches him in the arm. "Aiden's _my_ excuse for being a jerk, not yours."

Ryan pouts, which will never not be hilarious. "I didn't want to stress you out with my... not-relationship stuff."

"I'm gonna say something really crazy here," Mitch says flatly. "Talk to him about all of those feelings you're leaking everywhere."

Ryan turns on the radio instead, stubbornly pretending he loves Def Leppard until they get to the house.

"I can't believe I'm related to someone that out of touch with their feelings," Mitch whispers loudly when Ryan shuts the car off.

"Hey Mom, we're here," Ryan yells, unnecessarily loud—she's in the yard, so she saw them pull up.

"Ryan forgot to invite JT, but don't worry, we took care of it," Dylan adds. "Gonna go inside, see you later!"

Mom takes Ryan by the arm, and he shoots Dylan a betrayed look. Whatever; he did this to himself.

Mitch follows him inside, but grabs Dylan's hand as soon as the door shuts behind them. "I'm gonna go help with any last-minute stuff," he says. "Need anything?"

"Nah, we're good," Dylan replies, just to make Mitch bring out that soft, fond smile he saves for Aiden.

"Love you, back soon," Mitch says, squeezing Dylan's hand before he heads back outside.

Dylan smiles and heads to the kitchen. He'll get a glass of water and wait; it's his party, so he can if he wants to.

Dad is standing in the kitchen, tearing up lettuce for a salad. He pauses when Dylan walks in, and they look at each other uncomfortably for a moment before Dad sighs and drops the lettuce. "Hey," he says. "This probably isn't the best time, but we should talk. I'm sorry I waited this long."

Dylan swallows hard and takes another step into the kitchen. "Okay," he says. "Let's talk."

-0-

Dylan's pretty sure that between the power mom duo, they've managed to invite every single person that Dylan and Mitch have ever even spoken to. The backyard is packed full of hockey players, which is potentially dangerous.

"We're going to have to start stacking them soon," Dylan says as Crouse drags Konecny in. "There's only so much yard."

Mitch snorts. "Just wait until they've had some sugar; they'll start stacking themselves."

"We can deputize Davo and Nuge," Dylan suggests. "Official punch distribution system."

"Do I want to know why you're already distributing punches?" Ryan says, coming up behind them.

"Because apparently people forgot to invite their live-in boyfriends," Mitch says without missing a beat.

"Oh look," Ryan says brightly, "I think I see someone over there who's not an asshole." He crosses the yard so fast it's almost like Zdeno Chara is right behind him.

Dylan makes a show out of shading his eyes and looking in the direction Ryan's heading. "Nope," he yells. "You're out of luck, Ry." Sadly for Ryan, he's accidentally made a beeline straight for Connor and Nuge.

"This is great," Mitch says happily. "How long can we hold this over his head, d'you figure?"

"Until JT stops making that face," Dylan replies, nodding towards where the man in question is awkwardly hovering near a table of sandwiches.

Mitch looks over. "That's kinda just his face, babe."

Dylan grins. "Yup."

As they watch, Mitch's brother manages to startle JT into almost knocking a plate off the table. It's saved only by hockey reflexes. "I feel like we should do something, but I'm not sure what," Dylan says. "Like, we already invited him? And there are a ton of people here he knows."

Chris hands JT a beer and then leaves him alone, and JT relaxes visibly as Aaron approaches him; that's good, Dylan thinks. They can talk shop about Dylan's contract or something. It's kind of hilarious.

"Hey," Mitch says, poking Dylan in the side. "Look who just rolled in." He points across the yard, where Brinksy's walking in, dragging a suspiciously large black garbage bag.

"This is why I was nervous about this whole thing," Dylan says flatly as Brinksy makes his way over to the way-too-big gifts table and opens his bag, unloading present after misshapen present.

Mitch takes his hand and squeezes. "It'd be a lot weirder if they were wrapped nicely."

"Why are there so _many_?" Dylan asks despairingly.

"We can go check if it'll make you feel better," Mitch offers.

"I don't think I'll feel better until they're all opened," Dylan says, surveying the mountain of gifts. "And that's gonna take forever."

Brinksy finishes unloading the last of his haul and stuffs his giant garbage bag under the table. It's kinda thoughtful, really; if there's anything Dylan really hates he has an easy-access pipeline to the trash. At the very least, he can make all the hideous wrapping paper disappear.

They stare at the towering pile until Mitch bullies Dylan into sitting down. "We have cake," he says, luring him over to a table.

"Cake," Dylan repeats, making grabby hands as he sits. "I want two pieces."

As soon as he's settled, people start coming by like he's the Godfather or something. It's nice; he gets to eat cake, people congratulate him, and he doesn't have to move around too much in the heat of July. Mitch appoints Brinksy to be Dylan's personal drink-fetcher, a job he accepts with glee.

Brinksy makes a face when Dylan's mom suggests opening presents, though. "Um. I'm waiting for a couple of people, so if you could leave mine until later?"

Dylan is not reassured. "What have you done?" he asks as levelly as he can.

Brinksy gives him a bright grin and hands him a normally-wrapped gift. "It's so cool," he says.

If possible, this only makes Dylan more nervous. He hides his frown behind a growing pile of bibs and spit-up cloths and Halloween-themed onesies, because apparently everyone loves an October baby.

They're not even close to getting through the pile of gifts when Brinksy's face lights up. "Eichs!" he yells, waving his arm. "Hanny, hey, over here!"

Jack is wearing a classic bitch face from the Fall 2015 collection. It's possibly the most reassuring thing about him arriving; the black garbage bag Noah has thrown over his shoulder definitely isn't.

"Sorry we're late," Jack says. "Noah's tag-along seems to think flying from Boston to Toronto is enough for jet lag."

"He's called a _plus-one_ , and he's not feeling super great," Noah says in a tone of voice that says he's been saying it on repeat. "Hey, Stromer, Marns. Congrats, and I promise Charlie's not gonna puke on anything."

Charlie Coyle pokes his head out from behind Noah's shoulder and waves. He definitely looks like he's been napping; one of his cheeks still has pillow-lines. "Hi guys. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Dylan replies. Charlie takes off towards the food, so Dylan turns his attention back to Noah, who's swinging the bag off his shoulder. "What the hell did you two do?"

"Jesus, they're letting you have a kid, and you can't even count?" Jack says. He's in prime form, and it's refreshing. "There's three of us, Stromer, c'mon."

Brinksy bounds over to the gift table and comes back with a towering pile.

Dylan narrows his eyes. "When did you even have time to conspire?"

"Texting has been around for ages, Stromer, you should really look into it," he says, dumping the gifts on the ground and searching through them. He comes up with a lumpy orange-wrapped thing and thrusts it at Dylan, smiling like he's about to witness the greatest thing in human history. "Okay, this one first."

Mitch stands at the ready, his phone's notepad open. "Who is it from?"

"Me," Brinksy says immediately. "Mine first, then we can figure out the rest of them."

"They're not all from you?" Dylan breathes a sigh of relief.

"No," Brinksy says, drawing it out. "And, uh. You'll know who sent most of them, if you want to save time on the recording."

Dylan casts a glance at Mitch. Yup, just like Dylan expected, he's scowling. "How dare you besmirch the integrity of my spreadsheet."

"It's okay," Dylan says, patting Mitch on the back of the hand. "He didn't mean it like that."

"You married a fucking weirdo," Brinksy says. "Open it, c'mon."

The curiosity really is getting the better of Dylan, so he tears into the packaging. It's a teddy bear, he can tell as soon as he starts opening it, but when he pulls the last of the paper away he has to bite his lip so he doesn't start crying.

It's wearing a navy blue shirt that someone has painstakingly put an Otters patch on, a tiny pair of skates, and a knight helmet. When he turns it over, the back of the shirt has MARNER-STROME across the top, with 16 beneath it.

"Because she's born in 2016," Brinksy says, uncharacteristically soft.

"Babe, look," Dylan says, holding it out to Mitch. He's very proud his voice doesn't break.

"Oh my god," Mitch says, voice hushed. "Baby otter knight."

"So, DeBrincat upstaged us," Jack complains, "but the others are cool too."

"Wait," Dylan says, wiping at his eyes. "What did you..."

Jack holds out another terribly-wrapped package, about the same size and relative shape as the first one. "Happy babies need stuffed animals to hug," he says.

Dylan tears it open and recognises the logo instantly. "Baby Sabre?" he asks, skeptical. 

"Uncle Sabre," Jack corrects, turning bright red. "For when you're on the road."

"Uncle Hanny," Noah says, handing Dylan a Canes-red one next. "We figured if you had enough of 'em, then the speck could have one for your team and one for whoever you're playing."

Dylan eyes the pile. "You guys got thirty custom bears?"

Noah beams his all-American sunshine smile. "You'll find out when you open them."

"Well, better get to it," Mitch says, grabbing his phone. He types rapidly for a moment, then shows Dylan his screen. "I made a new sheet just for the bears."

Dylan cracks his knuckles. "Someone get me a sandwich. I'm going to need sustenance for this epic task."

-0-

The present mountain takes long enough to open that Mitch goes through two phone battery chargers before they finish. He's very dedicated to his spreadsheets. The party's been over for hours by the time they're done, but Dylan still had runners to supply him with food. He's pretty sure he's never getting Brinksy out of his hair again. His only hope is that Brinks gets distracted when Juo comes back from Finland, but that won't be for a month at least.

JT hovers awkwardly at the edge of the pack. He's holding a manila envelope and fiddling with the clasp on it, and the longer he does it, the more nervous Dylan gets.

"Hey, JT," Dylan calls out. "Could you help me stack the bears in my car?"

JT eyes the bears dubiously. "I can try," he says after a minute. "I'm not promising you anything, though. That's... several bears."

"Less than thirty," Mitch says, shrugging. "So we don't have one for every team."

"C'mon, Mr. Spreadsheet," Dylan teases. "How many more bears should we be expecting?"

Mitch pauses, and Dylan can see his lips moving as he counts. "Fifteen, actually. The pile has double-ups."

"That's terrifying," JT says in his blandest media voice. "You guys are going to have one closet that's just the closet from nightmareland."

"Bear-ifying," Mitch corrects, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

JT groans. "I'm sending your gift back," he says, holding the folder close to his chest. "That was awful."

Mitch makes a wounded noise, but Dylan just starts stacking his arms with bears so they can get home some time before tomorrow. It works; JT sticks his envelope under his arm and grabs a bunch more, following Dylan towards the car.

They dump all the bears in the back seat, and Dylan leaves Mitch fussing over whether or not he should buckle them in. "So, what have you got there?" he says to JT.

He fiddles with the clasp again. "I kind of got you something last-minute," he says. "I mean, I was going to get you guys something, obviously, but since I didn't know I was coming today until this morning... yeah."

"You didn't have to get us anything," Dylan says softly, but he makes grabby hands anyway.

"Of course I did," JT protests as he hands it over. "You're my... Dylan. You're Dylan, of course I did." His face is beet red, no media training in sight.

Dylan opens the envelope and pulls out an order receipt.

"It's stupid," JT says, his eyes dropping to the ground.

Dylan scans it quickly, then goes back to the top and looks it through more slowly. It's a bunch of the smaller-ticket items they'd had on their Amazon registry, stuff like the inserts for the diaper genie and probably a year's worth of socks and a case of bottle liners. "This is..." Dylan says, swallowing hard. "Thank you."

JT sighs. "It's boring, I know."

"Are you kidding me?" Dylan says, laughing a little. He's getting emotional over an order receipt that has baby butt wipes on it. "This is amazing. This is _so much_ of the little stuff that everyone else thinks is too boring to buy. Thank you, thank you." He's not sure he wants to cry on his new captain, but he needs to hug JT pretty much immediately, so he's gonna risk it.

JT makes a surprised huffing noise when Dylan tackles him. He doesn't hesitate to hug Dylan back even though he's leaking from the face a little, so Dylan hangs on.

"We're on the same team now," Dylan says, sniffling. "So you can call me if Ryan's being a dumbass."

"Do you have unlimited minutes?" JT asks very seriously.

"If he's being cranky for no reason, put on 10 Things I Hate About You," Dylan advises. "Or pretty much anything with Heath Ledger."

"I'll take that under advisement," JT says, deadly serious. It isn't until Dylan pulls back and sees him grinning that he realises it was a joke.

"Anyway, thanks for all the stuff," Dylan says, wiping at his face. "This is awesome. Seriously, every wants to give us frilly dresses for her, but nobody cares about the, like..." He trails off and glances at the list and starts laughing. "A 24-pack of baby shampoo?"

JT shrugs. "Have you seen your husband's hair?"

"My hair is amazing, excuse you," Mitch says, finally emerging from whatever he's done to all the poor teddy bears. "Why do you care about my hair?"

Dylan pats him on the shoulder. "My new captain thinks the speck's going to inherit your flow."

"Nah, she's gonna get your curls," Mitch says immediately. His smiles gets that gooey quality that Dylan has figured is solely for Aiden.

JT clears his throat and steps back. "Um, anyway, I wasn't sure where you'd want it delivered, so it's coming to my place. Ryan can drop it off whenever you want, or I can keep it in my garage until..." He gestures at the pile of bears. "Well, you have a lot of stuff to wrangle."

"And we're not gonna have a house for, like, a month and a half," Mitch says, grimacing a little. "What'd we get, Dyls?"

Dylan hands him the piece of paper and heads back inside. Someday soon he's going to have to tell Ryan to put a ring on it, before it's too late.

That's a problem for later, though; right now, he needs to say goodbye to the Murphys, who drove all the way up from Erie for the party. They've been talking to Mitch's billet parents, the Bartletts, for a while, hopefully not swapping _too_ many horror stories about dealing with teenage romance. It's probably a vain hope, given the way Mr. Murphy elbows Mrs. Bartlett when Dylan approaches them.

"Here's the man of the hour," Mr. Bartlett says, waggling his eyebrows.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Dylan asks cautiously. "Because I can go get Mitch, and he can be the man of the hour. He can take it."

"No, honey, he had his turn about six months ago," Mrs. Murphy jokes.

"Oh my god," Dylan says, groaning. "Good to see you, thanks for coming, I'm leaving now."

"Dylan," Mr. Murphy says, shaking his head sadly. "You really need to get used to dad jokes."

"My kid deserves better humour than dad jokes," Dylan mutters. "She can hear now, y'know. Tell her a _good_ joke."

"The Vancouver Canucks," Mrs. Bartlett says, deadpan.

Mr. Bartlett bends down so he's almost eye-level with Dylan's belly. "One of your dads had a mullet," he says very seriously. "It was hilarious. We'll show you photos when you're old enough to appreciate them."

"Okay, mullet jokes are much better," Dylan says, grinning.

"Bad hairstyles are the glue of a good marriage," Mr. Murphy says, tipping Dylan a wink.

Dylan grins and thinks about how narrowly he avoided the frosted tips look for this year's playoffs. "I'll keep that in mind," he promises.


	26. Chapter 26

Dylan's not a morning person at the moment, but he wakes up the day after the party with a smile on his face. Even with the RSVPs he somehow hadn't expected so many of their friends to show up. It was a lot of fun, actually, and today's going to be pretty great too.

Dylan rolls over and pokes Mitch in the shoulder.

"No," Mitch whines, rolling away.

"Yes," Dylan replies. "Today you get to unleash mischief on my friends."

Mitch is still for a moment, then rolls back towards Dylan. His face emerges from his blanket cocoon. "Are you gonna let me do balloons?"

"Babe," Dylan says, taking Mitch's face in his hands, "I will let you do balloons _and_ streamers."

"I love you," Mitch says happily, throwing the covers off and leaning in to kiss Dylan. "Let's go make McLeod's house really ugly."

They get up and take a shower, and while Mitch is doing his best to make them something edible for breakfast, Dylan texts Connor. It's not a real house-decorating party unless Connor's there, and Nuge by default. They agree to meet at Party City in an hour, so Dylan puts his phone away and slathers enough jam on his toast that he can't taste the burnt bits.

They make it to Party City before Connor and Nuge do, so Dylan lets Mitch loose with a shopping cart and waits up front. There's only so much shit he can fit in one tiny cart, so Dylan's not as worried as he could be.

Dylan checks his phone after he's been waiting almost ten minutes with no-one to help curb Mitch's enthusiasm. There's a text waiting from Connor. _sorry we're late, we have a passenger_.

He's about to text back, but before he can, he hears someone call his name. Dylan looks up to see Connor and Nuge walking towards him, and behind them is Taylor Hall.

"We found an expert on New Jersey," Nuge says, smirking at Dylan's surprised face.

Hall smiles widely and speedwalks his way over to Dylan. "Hi! How are you? How's baby?" He leans over before Dylan can get a word in edgewise. "Hi, baby! I'm Uncle Taylor! I brought you a present."

Dylan catches Connor's eye and mouths _What the fuck?_

Connor shrugs, but he's grinning, the asshole.

Meanwhile, Hall is pulling something out of his pocket and waving it towards Dylan's belly. "Do you like them? I picked them out myself."

"They're great, Hallsy," Dylan reassures him. "When did you get here?"

"Like, I don't know, two hours ago?" He finally stands up and hands Dylan a pair of tiny red and black socks with the Devils logo on them. "Had to bring the little lady some awesome swag."

Dylan's glad it's not another bear; he's pretty sure Mikey and Nate will have that covered. Besides, they're kind of cute, even if Dylan's now contractually obligated to hate the Devils. "She and I both thank you," Dylan says, tucking them into his pocket. "Now, not to alarm anyone, but I let my husband loose in there fifteen minutes ago, so..."

Connor's eyes go wide, and he grabs Nuge by the hand. "Let's go."

"That's bad, I'm guessing," Hallsy says. "What's he gonna do, buy everything in there?"

"I gave him free rein to dress up my friend Mikey's house in Devils colours before he gets back from development camp," Dylan explains. "Mitch and Mikey have an interesting relationship." Wherein they barely know each other, and they express tentative affection through maximum annoyance. Come to think about it, that's how Mitch approaches everyone. At least Dylan's sure he already loves Aiden; he'd hate to have to kick Mitch to the curb for trying to annoy a newborn, but needs must.

Hallsy lights up. "I get to prank my rookies before I even meet the team?" That... might not be the calming influence Dylan was looking for. At least Connor will probably be on Dylan's side. Maybe. Hopefully.

Connor, it turns out, is not on Dylan's side; he's on the side of Make Hallsy Laugh, and Nuge is on the side of Try To Outdo Mitch. Dylan gives up when Connor goes back to the front of the store for a second shopping cart. He's only human. He hangs back and lets the professionals handle it—or, more accurately, he lets their professional-size bank accounts handle it.

When they finally finish, Hallsy follows them back to Mitch's car and helps them load bag after bag. Then, to Dylan's surprise, he climbs into the back seat.

"Uh," Dylan says, looking at Connor, who shrugs.

"No givsie-backsies," he singsongs. "We'll see you at Clouder's!" And then he runs towards his own car.

"Wow," Dylan says dryly. "You really bring out the best in Connor."

Hallsy beams.

"Hey, Hallsy, did you bring any Devils stuff?" Mitch asks as he starts the car and heads for Mikey's. "We could make it extra authentic."

"We'll make it extra super awesome," Hallsy promises. "But first: coffee."

"Finally, something I can get behind," Dylan says, 

"Does she like coffee?" Hallsy asks. "Does she get, like, jumpy or whatever? I can't even imagine a baby on a caffeine rush."

Dylan takes that as his cue to tell Hallsy all the cute stories everyone else has heard a thousand times. He laughs hard at the one about Aiden mooning her audience.

"She's the best baby," he announces, grinning hard. "Wow. I can't wait to meet her."

"Me neither," Dylan says, and he's proud his voice doesn't crack. "She doesn't finish serving her penalty until early October, so we'll be in Toronto for the long haul."

Hallsy pulls his phone out and pokes at it for a moment before giving a super melodramatic sigh. "We're not here until _March_. She'll be huge by then!"

"Aww, don't worry, Uncle Hallsy," Mitch teases. "We'll make sure Uncle Connor adds you to the phone tree."

Hallsy brightens. "Hey, wait, we play the Sabres in early November," he says. "Maybe I can sneak away after the game?"

Mitch snorts. "Just remember, she won't have a passport yet so you can't smuggle her across the border."

"She'll be really little still," Hallsy says thoughtfully. "I could probably just stick her in my coat and nobody would notice."

Dylan grins, flashing his teeth. "And I could sic my whole team on you. They're only one state over."

It makes Hallsy pull a face. "I'm pretty sure your little dude would bite my ankles," he says. "Fine. You can keep her. But I'm going to bring _so many presents._ "

They banter back and forth until Mitch pulls up at the McLeod house. Then it's time to get down to business.

-0-

Matt meets them at the McLeod house to help decorate, since he's taller than anyone his age really has the right to be. He's still not tall enough to reach the eaves on his own, though, so Dylan ends up taking Snapchat video after Snapchat video of Matt running around with Mitch on his shoulders, streamers trailing after them.

Hallsy slings an arm around Nuge's shoulder and sighs wistfully. "Remember when we were young, Nugget?"

"Don't even think about it," Nuge says flatly. "You weigh a fucking ton, and so do I."

Hallsy turns to Connor with a hopeful look on his face. Connor raises an eyebrow really, really high. "Like I need another broken collarbone?"

Nuge ducks out from under Hallsy's arm and wraps Connor in a bear hug. "Don't say that out loud. The hockey gods might hear you."

Dylan and Hallsy both make the cross-checking signal. It's definitely a ridiculous superstition, but hey, Dylan's not going to argue with tradition.

Then Hallsy locks eyes with Dylan and waggles his eyebrows. "Wanna show 'em how it's done?" Dylan's brain bluescreens, and he's still trying to decide where to even start with what a bad idea that is when Hallsy's jaw drops. "Wait, never mind, I'm an idiot."

Dylan manages to reach out and pat his shoulder. "You got there, buddy."

"I think I need to sit down," Hallsy replies, looking around desperately for a chair before flopping on the ground. He tucks his knees up to his chest and plants his face in his hands; he suddenly looks younger than anyone else in the yard, even though he has almost a decade on Matt.

Dylan looks around, but Nuge and Connor have wandered over to where the Matt-and-Mitch stack of hockey players is trying to tape something to the side of the house. He gives a little shrug and eases himself down next to Hallsy. "It's fine," he says. "Dude, don't beat yourself up over it."

Hallsy peeks through his fingers. "I'm not. But I'm still kind of an idiot."

"Uh," Dylan says cautiously. "Everything okay?"

Hallsy snorts. "Other than the fact that literal rookies have their shit together more than I do?"

Dylan raises his eyebrow and gestures to his stomach. "If you think I've got my shit totally together, well, wait a couple of months. You'll be completely well-adjusted compared to me."

"Dude," Hallsy says, shaking his head. "Connor's not even my rookie anymore and I'm hiding at his house. Because feelings are for grown-ups."

Whatever Dylan was expecting, it definitely wasn't this. "Okay?" he tries. "Do you... want to talk about it?"

"Do I look like marriage material?" Hallsy flaps a hand in front of himself, encompassing his tomato-sauce-stained t-shirt, his backwards cap, and his sneakers. The laces are undone, and somehow despite the fact that it's a warm July day his shoes are caked in mud.

"I'm super taken, bud," Dylan says. "What's going on?"

"I told Ebs not to do a stupid thing and he did it anyway," Hallsy replies, kicking at a clump of grass.

That... explains a lot, actually. Dylan winces. "You don't have to say yes," he says quietly.

"Technically he didn't ask yet." Hallsy continues his vendetta against the McLeods' lawn, but he also gets out his phone and scrolls to a photo of two rings. They're really nice; they're both simple, with little lines in the band. The caption underneath says _i'll wait until you're ready. no pressure. love you._

Dylan has to bite his lip, because laughing at Hallsy would be counter-productive. "Wow, that's heavy."

"I love him," Hallsy says morosely. "Like, way more than I meant to. And now I'm in New Jersey, and he's still in Edmonton, and..."

"And you only got your shit together a few months ago," Dylan finishes. 

"Yeah." Hallsy hides his face in his hands again. "I thought we'd have more time."

"It's rough," Dylan says, as gently as he can manage. "Give it some time, if you're not sure yet. He said he'd wait."

"I know, I just..." Hallsy finally looks up from his intense study of the grass. "Okay, if you tell anyone this, I'll buy your kid the noisiest toys I can find."

"Jesus, I pinky swear," Dylan says, shuddering. "I won't say a word."

"Nobody knows, not even Ebs," Hallsy replies, holding out his pinky.

Dylan manages not to grin as they lock pinkies and shake on it.

Hallsy narrows his eyes and looks around, making sure no-one else is close by, then he leans in. "Ebs was the first guy I ever had a crush on, when I was like seventeen." 

"Okay," Dylan says, nodding along.

"He won gold at World Juniors and I just..." Hallsy makes a face. "I figured I'd get over it, but then the next year we were both on the national team."

"And he kept being good at things," Dylan says. It's not hard to guess that much, at least.

"Exactly!" Hallsy says, excited that Dylan's following along. "And like, what are the odds that we'd get drafted to the same team? He got there a year before me, and front office let me move in with him, and..." Taylor mimes an explosion.

Dylan nods again, but he feels like he's lost the thread a little. "And that was... not good?"

"I had zero chill," Hallsy replies. "It wasn't pretty, and I think I scared him off."

"Ah." Honestly, as much as it had sucked, Dylan's now glad that he and Mitch had been on different teams when they got together; he knows himself well enough to know he would've done something similar. "Not the best impression."

"And after we broke up it's not like I got space to figure shit out," Hallsy adds. "We played together at Worlds _twice_ , so I didn't even really get the off season."

"That sounds really awful," Dylan says.

"I don't know who I am without Ebs," Hallsy admits, his voice so quiet it's almost a whisper. "And I don't know what my hockey's like without him. How am I supposed to handle losing _both_?"

"Hey, no," Dylan says. He scoots closer and throws an arm around Hallsy's shoulders, and actually isn't all that surprised when Hallsy leans into him. "Not playing on the same team as him doesn't mean you're _losing_ him. I mean, you've got photographic proof that he really wants to keep you." He takes a breath. "And yeah, your hockey's gonna be an adjustment without him. It's not the exact same, but playing this year without Davo was kind of terrible until I got my bearings. You'll adjust. I promise."

"I haven't been away from him for more than a couple months in six years. It's freaking me out." Which is obvious, because Hallsy's back to staring at the grass like it holds the secret of the universe.

"I know you said feelings are for grown-ups, but maybe you should tell him some of this," Dylan says after a moment. "He loves you. He'll want to do whatever he can to help out."

Hallsy gestures helplessly. "His idea of helping is buying rings when I told him to wait."

"You can say no," Dylan reminds him. "You don't have to marry him. Even if you love him, you don't have to marry him."

"I don't like dramatic gestures," Hallsy complains. "I think I'm allergic to drama."

Dylan manages to avoid laughing, which is probably a minor miracle. "Then you can just... wait," he suggests. "Don't give him an answer either way. See how your season goes, see how things with him go over the course of the season. Sort your shit out, and then sort out everything else."

Hallsy cocks his head, like he needs the physical tilt to see things differently. "So just... wait it out?"

Dylan pats him on the back. "Ebs literally said he'd wait for you."

They sit in silence for a little while before Hallsy snorts and shakes his head. "You super do have your shit together, don't even lie." Before Dylan can respond, he sighs a little. "But, uh. Thanks."

"Shh, you'll ruin my rep," Dylan says, ruffling Hallsy's hair. "Help me up."

Hallsy jumps to his feet and then carefully helps Dylan stand. They're just in time, too; Matt and Mitch turn around, Mitch wobbling a little dangerously on Matt's shoulders before he grabs a handful of hair to steady himself. "Come look!" he calls, sweeping his arm at the house.

"Shall we?" Dylan asks, turning to Hallsy.

Hallsy gives him a grin and claps his shoulder. "Yeah, let's."

-0-

It's almost time for dinner by the time Mikey texts his mom to say he's nearly home. Dylan shoos everyone inside, so they can surprise him when he pulls up. Mikey will probably just blame his brothers for the streamers on the outside of the house; they're definitely more enthusiastic than tasteful. But Dylan's not about to let the inferior Matt and Ryan take credit for his work.

"He's here," Mrs. McLeod announces a few minutes later. They all take their places in the living room, but Mikey doesn't appear in the doorway. Dylan exchanges a glance with Mrs. McLeod, and she rolls her eyes. "I'll go get him."

"Thanks," Dylan says, grinning at her. He'd do it, but that would totally ruin the surprise.

They all hear Mikey whining before they see him. "Are you sure? I still have glitter in my socks from my birthday."

Little Ryan snickers and holds his fist out, and Big Matt bumps it.

Dylan turns to Little Matt and fake-coughs _losers_ at him. Glitter bombs are so unoriginal. Not to mention, the pranker tends to get caught in their own crossfire.

"I promise, nobody is glitter bombing anyone today," Mrs. McLeod says as she pushes the front door open. Mikey still looks wary when he comes into view.

"Surprise," Hallsy yells, barrelling into Mikey and wrapping him up in a giant bear hug.

"What the fuck?" Mikey yells, right in Hallsy's ear.

"Hallsy," Connor groans, standing from his hiding spot behind the sofa and going over, presumably to rescue Mikey. "Hey, Mikey. Congrats. Also, sorry, you're stuck with this guy now."

"I'm a fucking delight," Hallsy says immediately, clinging tighter.

"I'd miss living with you already, if you ever left," Connor teases.

"You can't miss me if I don't go away," Hallsy says, nodding.

"Can I have my arms back?" Mikey asks, bewildered. "And, like, freedom of movement?"

"Yeah, Hallsy, you don't want to get cooties from hugging someone who's not a first overall pick," Dylan adds.

"I hugged you," Hallsy says, shrugging. "I'm already infected."

Mikey breaks loose and facewashes him. "So," he says, looking around at all of the red and black decorations. They are, admittedly, everywhere. "Thanks?"

Mitch smiles sweetly, hands hidden behind his back. "I'm really glad you like it."

Mikey frowns a little at him. "Is this, like, payback? For the clown pants thing?"

"Nah, the clown pants thing was way worse for you than anyone else." Mitch rocks back on his heels and tries his best to put on an innocent face. "We wanted to do something special since you had to miss the party."

It definitely only makes Mikey more suspicious. He looks around, but finally just shrugs. "As long as it's not glitter."

Mitch produces the set of Minnie Mouse ears he'd snuck into his basket at the last minute. "They're Devils' colours!"

Dylan grins a little as Mikey's whole expression turns delighted. If Mitch was hoping to make it weird or something, well, clearly he'd forgotten that Mikey _chose_ the clown pants. "Hell yes, I can rock a red bow," Mikey declares, making grabby hands.

Mitch beckons to him, laughing as Mikey bends over so Mitch can put them on his head. Big Matt and Little Ryan break into applause, and Little Matt wolf whistles. These are the people Dylan's stuck with for life. He's not exactly upset about it.

Mikey straightens up to show off his headgear. "How do I look?"

"Fabulous," Dylan replies. "We saved you some wedding cake."

"Cake," Mikey gasps in a ridiculous high-pitched voice. He puts his hands on his cheeks and bats his eyelashes, and Dylan's not sure if he's going for Minnie Mouse or Marilyn Monroe, but either way it's hilarious. "For me?"

Dylan drags him into the kitchen, and Mikey cracks up laughing when he sees the table all decked out in yet more Devils gear.

"Look, when we celebrate, we celebrate," Dylan says, grinning. "Congrats, by the way."

"Oh, are you guys excited for me? I couldn't tell." Mikey drags Dylan into a hug.

"Mikey and Nater," Dylan says, hugging him back. "That's awesome, man. I'm glad you guys get to keep playing together." Their relationship is kind of full of question marks; Dylan isn't sure if Nate is Mikey's Connor or his Mitch. He's not sure it matters yet, not until they're ready to go down that path.

Mikey pulls back and stuffs his face with cake so he doesn't have to come up with a response, and Dylan lets him get away with it. Because that's how middle brothers roll.

"So I guess you had a legit excuse for not coming to the party," Dylan says, grinning and elbowing Mikey. "But, like. Wish you could have been there, all that jazz. Aiden needs to meet her Uncle Mikey."

Mikey almost chokes on his mouthful of cake. "Her name is Aiden?" he asks through a mouthful of cake. He's an absolutely ridiculous sight: Minnie Mouse ears on his head, Devils tee that's already stretched at the collar, icing on his chin. Dylan's so glad Mikey's in his life, honestly.

"Yeah," Dylan confirms. "It's weird, but now that she has a name she feels more like a person, somehow."

Thankfully, Mikey swallows before he speaks again. "Wow," he says, smiling at Dylan's belly. A second later, his gaze snaps back to Dylan. "Oh! I got her something!"

It's been just over twelve hours since Dylan last opened a present, which apparently is long enough to go into withdrawal. "Gimme."

"Maybe I'll let Marns open it," Mikey says, raising an eyebrow.

"He'll just give it to me," Dylan says immediately. "I've got him trained."

Mikey snorts. "Why does that not surprise me at all?"

"Maybe because Mitch hardly complained when he got that slapshot in the face playing road hockey goalie," Dylan muses. They both crack up; Mitch had whined about it for hours, until Dylan volunteered to kiss him better. And he still brings it up in interviews.

"His whole cheek was purple," Mikey says. "Ah, the good old days."

"It was, like, two summers ago," Dylan says, raising an eyebrow.

Mikey gestures at Dylan's stomach. "That's a whole lifetime for the speck."

"You calling the time before my kid was even a thought in my head 'the good old days' doesn't exactly inspire confidence in whatever gift you said you got," Dylan points out.

"Hey, if you don't want it, I can keep it."

"Like I said: gimme," Dylan says, reaching out and making grabby hands.

Mikey rolls his eyes. "It's in my car."

Dylan wrinkles his nose. "Tell me you didn't put it in your hockey bag."

"Uh, gross," Mikey says, making a face. "No, man. I'd like her to be able to actually use it."

"Prove it," Dylan says challengingly. "Go get it, and I'll sniff it before I open it to make sure it's not all hockeyed up." He pauses and reconsiders. "Or, no, I'll make Mitch smell if, just in case it does smell like too much hockey."

He shoos Mikey away from the table, and beckons Mitch over. "I need your nose."

Big Matt raises his eyebrows. "Do I want to know?"

"No," Little Matt says immediately. "Because if he tells you now, then _I_ have to know, and I already know too much." He shudders.

Mitch dutifully comes over, and nuzzles Dylan's neck. "Hi. Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did," Dylan says, grabbing Mitch's hand. "You were all the way over there."

Two of the other people in the room make distinct gagging noises, but Dylan just flips them the finger and squeezes Mitch's hand.

"My nose is at your service," Mitch says, batting his eyelashes.

"Best Knight," Dylan says, smiling when Mitch brings their hands up and brushes a kiss against Dylan's knuckles.

"Oh, ew," Mikey says as he walks back in, a gift bag in his hands. "You guys are being domestic in my kitchen. Stop."

Dylan takes the gift bag and holds it out to Mitch. "Does this smell like a locker room?"

The room falls dead silent around them, until finally Hallsy breaks. "I am never getting married."

"In sickness and in health, and in the weird in-between that is pregnancy," Mitch says, leaning in and sniffing delicately. He shakes his head after a moment. "Smells fine."

Dylan pulls a familiar-shaped, badly-wrapped package out of the gift bag. "Hey, babe, cross the Devils off the list," he says, pulling the paper off of yet another teddy bear. This one is indeed wearing a Devils jersey, complete with little skates and a soft helmet, and it has _McLeod_ stitched onto the back.

Mikey shrugs. "I know it's not original..."

"It's great," Dylan cuts in. "There can be only one Uncle Mikey."

Mitch starts laughing. "Unlike literally everyone else here," he says.

"Hey!" Connor and Taylor pipe up indignantly, in unison.

Dylan snorts. "Okay, Davo gets a pass." He shakes his head sadly at Hallsy. "You're not the only Uncle Taylor, bud. Sorry."

Connor narrows his eyes at Mitch. "You're not allowed to make friends with Connor Carrick."

"What about Connor Brown?" Mitch asks, blinking at Connor. "I mean, you played with him in Erie. Should I tell him that Better Connor told me not to be friends with him?"

"I'm the best Connor there is," Connor says, crossing his arms and daring the whole room to contradict him.

Dylan just traces his fingers over the bear's name plate and tries not to tear up. They're growing up, all of them. It feels like all he has to do is blink and it'll be Little Matt's draft day. He'll be there, just like he always swore he would be; it's just that he'll have his husband and their eight-month-old daughter with him, too. And she can have a Strome bear, for wherever Matt ends up.

-0-

Dylan is torn on whether or not he regrets bringing Team Older Brother to his 28-week checkup, but Mitch has a Leafs charity ping-pong tournament, of all things, so here he is. It's nice having the support, but Chris and Ryan are an unholy team. It's not helping that Dylan's the special kind of cranky that comes with having to fast overnight. Ryan fusses over him, which is terrible, and Chris isn't much better. Neither of them will let him drive.

"I'm plotting out who's getting each dirty diaper call," he says as they get into the car. Chris looks like he might actually be debating whether or not to try to help Dylan buckle his seatbelt.

"You can get it, though?" Chris asks, apparently undeterred by the thought of baby poop.

Dylan glares. "My hands aren't broken."

"No, but twisting around could be uncomfortable," Ryan says from the driver's seat. "Like, if my abs are super sore, I don't like making that motion."

"I can't fucking believe this," Dylan mutters under his breath, wrestling the seat belt into place. Somehow Ryan and Chris manage to be worse than Mitch and Connor.

Chris is still surveying him, even with the seat belt firmly in place. "Is that okay?" he asks. "It's not, like, pressing weird?"

"If I'm late to my appointment and they make me reschedule, I will set you both on fire," Dylan replies.

"Get in the car, Chris, I think he's serious," Ryan says. "We can figure out seat belt logistics later."

Chris holds the door for Dylan when they get to the clinic. The overprotective older brother thing has some advantages, maybe, but Dylan will never, even say that out loud. They graciously allow him to sign himself in, and then he gets to watch and try not to laugh too much as Chris and Ryan take in the wonder that is the waiting room.

The nurse calls him in before long, and Dylan tries his best to leave his entourage behind. Their sad faces almost make him cry, though, so he suspects Mitch is going to have to be the tough dad—Dylan's obviously a pushover.

Chris has been to an appointment before, but it's all new to Ryan; Dylan catches Chris muttering to him and gesturing around the room. Ryan makes a terrified face at the fetal development poster. It almost makes up for the seat belt thing. Almost.

The nurse pulls a tray in with a few things on it and starts working busily with them. When she's got things ready, she smiles at Dylan. "So we need to monitor your glucose levels," she says, holding up a pod that's about two inches around. "You'll feel a little pinch when I set the monitor up, and after that we'll stick your finger. Once now, once in an hour, and once in two hours. Any questions?"

"When can I eat?" Dylan asks desperately.

"After the test is done," she says, patting his shoulder. "I promise, you can get a huge lunch as soon as you leave here."

Dylan groans. "Do what you have to do," he says. "The sooner you do it, the sooner I can have a real meal."

She has him lean forward; there's a little popping noise and a little pinch, and then she tapes some gauze over the little dongle thing she put on his back. The finger stick is quick after that, and she smiles when she's done. "Looks good," she says, handing him a disgustingly sweet drink. Dylan wills himself not to throw up. Starting the test over is not in his game plan.

"Dr. Hewitt will be in shortly to do the rest of your exam," she says. "Just sit tight until she gets here."

"You okay?" Ryan asks when she's gone, his voice soft like he's trying not to spook a horse.

"I want a Big Mac," Dylan says grumpily.

Ryan makes a disgusted face; Chris leans forward, cutting off whatever Ryan was about to say. "You can have whatever you want."

"Chris is my favourite today," Dylan announces. "I want a Big Mac and a zillion fries."

"That's not fair!" Ryan squawks, just as Dr. Hewitt walks in.

"Hi, doc!" Dylan calls out. "You've met Chris, my brother-in-law, and this is my brother Ryan. Don't let the tantrum fool you, he's older than me."

"Good to meet you, Ryan," Dr. Hewitt says. She shakes everyone's hands, then sits at her stool. "No Mitch today?"

Dylan shakes his head. "Mitch had an important date with a ping pong table."

"I'll take your word for it," Dr. Hewitt says smoothly. "So, anything you want to ask before we get started?"

"I feel huge," Dylan complains. "And I know it's not all baby, there's other stuff, but like. How big is she?"

"About the size of an eggplant," Dr. Hewitt answers. "She's probably around two and a half pounds."

Dylan's face falls. "That's it?"

"Sorry," Dr. Hewitt laughs. "She'll grow a lot faster from here on out, though."

"She'd better," Ryan blurts out. He looks shellshocked again.

Ryan and Chris both pull their phones out when Dr. Hewitt starts talking about kick counts and movement patterns. Dylan's pretty sure they're both going to report back to Mitch.

"Have you started thinking about childbirth classes and delivery options?" Dr. Hewitt asks, ignoring them both like the true professional she is.

Dylan shrugs. "A little. We were thinking private classes, since Mitch is pretty much a walking billboard these days."

"That's probably a good choice," she agrees. "We have some classes here, if you want to do them with us, or I can recommend a few other options for you."

Dylan breathes a sigh of relief. He never knew having a kid was so complicated. There's so much to do, so much to choose from, that he'll take any advice he can get. Well, any advice that doesn't come from freaked out, overprotective older brothers. He definitely caught both of them taking one of every pamphlet that was on offer in the waiting room. Dylan's pretty sure he doesn't have to worry about vaginal thrush.

"Are we ready to take a look at her?" Dr. Hewitt asks when she finishes with everything else.

Ryan squeaks and grabs for Chris' hand. "Dude, this is going to be so awesome. We actually get to see her!"

"You don't even know," Chris says, already focusing on the monitor even though it's not on yet. "She'll probably moon you. Or try to flip you the bird."

Ryan beams. "Aww." 

Dylan rolls his eyes. "She's a hockey baby. What else do you expect?"

"She's the best baby in the world, though," Ryan says, and Chris nods vehemently.

"I'd tell you guys to get a room, but the last time someone said that to a Marner and a Strome..." Dylan gestures at his belly. It's a bummer that Mitch can't be here, but at least Dylan can cheer himself up by making other people uncomfortable. He wishes he'd thought to pull out his phone before he said it; maybe he would have been able to record the way Chris and Ryan spring away from each other so fast they both almost fall.

"Ew, hockey cooties," Chris says, leaning precariously out of his seat.

"But he's an _accountant_ ," Ryan says at the same time, horrified. "No offence," he adds immediately, "but math is like. The worst."

"I don't ever smell like a gear bag," Chris shoots back. "I only have to shower once a day."

Dylan claps his hands together. "Focus, children." They both fall silent and turn to look at the monitor again.

Aiden jams her thumb in her mouth, and Dylan struggles not to cry.

"Oh my god," Ryan chokes out.

"Hi, baby girl," Chris says, waving stupidly at the monitor.

Dylan definitely wants to chirp them, but he's 100% sure that if he opens his mouth right now, he's gonna start sobbing, so he just keeps his mouth shut. He just nods when Dr. Hewitt finishes up the exam, and sits quietly while he waits for the nurse to come back. Ryan and Chris are mercifully quiet, too. It's different from Dylan's previous appointments, but that doesn't make it bad. He just has to get used to the idea that Mitch is going to miss some things; it's not the end of the world.

"Come on," Chris says when they're done, and the nurse has given Dylan the all clear. "Big Macs are waiting. I'll even splurge for ice cream."

Dylan smiles and follows him out.

-0-

The end of July brings with it the first real taste of what Dylan is giving up by having a kid at this point in his life: he's sitting on the bed, watching Mitch pack a bag for World Juniors prospect camp, and realising that it's just the first thing he's going to miss. At least when Erie was in the playoffs he got to be there, in the thick of things. He'd be going with Mitch now if he wasn't having Aiden, and it's a lot to handle.

Dylan already loves her so fucking much but that doesn't make it easy to be left out, left behind. A traitorous part of his brain worries that this is it: this is the moment he'll look back on, marking it as the end of his career. If something goes wrong in the next couple of months, or when she's born, he might never play again. He definitely knows she's worth the risk, but it doesn't mean that the risk isn't there. And honestly, it's kind of terrifying to think that he's willing to give it all up for her if he has to. He's reshaping the landscape of his future, eyes wide open to what it could mean, for a tiny human who wouldn't even be able to breathe on her own if she was born right now.

"Hey," Mitch says quietly, sitting down next to him on the bed. "What's up? You okay?"

Dylan bites his lip. "I'm never going to play for the junior team again." If he's unlucky, he might not ever make Team Canada.

Mitch grabs his hand and squeezes. They just sit there for a little while, neither of them saying anything, until Mitch takes a deep breath. "I don't have to go," he says.

"That wouldn't help me," Dylan points out. "Actually, it'd probably make me feel worse, because I'd be panicking about both our careers instead of just mine."

"How can I help?" Mitch asks. "I don't want to leave if you're feeling bad, but I don't want to stay if it'll make it worse."

"A hug sounds good." If he holds on long enough, Dylan's sure he can get himself together. Probably.

Mitch doesn't hesitate at all to wrap himself around Dylan. They're maybe both clinging a little, but there's nobody here to call them on it. "I'll keep my phone with me on the ice," he promises. "And if Coach doesn't like it I'll walk out."

Dylan laughs a little. "Maybe on the bench," he suggests. "Or you're going to have to replace it when someone gets it with a slapper."

"Fine," Mitch says with a sigh. These days you can hardly pry him away from his phone with a crowbar. He tripped face-first into nesting mode, and when he's not looking up things for the baby or keeping track of what they need to do for the house, he's stalking Instagram posts of baby animals.

"I just think that's an expense we can avoid," Dylan says, amused. He's definitely feeling at least a little better now. "Think of it this way: not having to buy a new phone means, like, fifteen sets of crib sheets."

Mitch coos and, predictably, reaches for his phone. Dylan lets him do his thing; Mitch likes window shopping for baby stuff, and Dylan likes watching him. They're not buying too much yet; they close on the house at the end of August, so there's no use ordering things that they're just going to have to move.

Dylan's phone pings; he doesn't really want to let go of Mitch yet, but then it pings twice more in quick succession, so he sighs and wriggles away so he can grab it. "Ryan had better have a good reason for cuddle-blocking me," he complains as he opens the first message.

"It's probably JT-related," Mitch says, putting his arm around Dylan's waist. "In which case, it's a good reason, but it's also a problem of his own making."

Mitch is probably right; Ryan's not-at-all subtly angling for a sleepover. Dylan can work with that, though. Mitch is leaving after lunch for camp, and Dylan's facing down a week of being more or less on his own, unless Mitch has arranged some sort of schedule of people to drop in on him. "You didn't book babysitters for me while you're away, did you?" Dylan asks, just in case.

Mitch's eyes widen. "I didn't think of that!"

"That was not a suggestion," Dylan says sternly as Mitch unlocks his phone. "I can actually make plans on my own." Just to prove it, Dylan texts Ryan. _do i have 2 pretend i can't hear u guys bangin while i'm there?_

_nooooooo,_ Ryan texts back immediately. There's a pause, and then he adds, _he's not here for a while?? like. idk come over gotta talk to u_.

"Okay, it looks like a bro emergency," Dylan says. "Either I need to smack him for being an idiot or I need to plaster on my sympathy face. Wish me luck."

"It's Ryan, which means probably both," Mitch says, letting go. "Bring cookies. They can be sympathy cookies for him, or they can be something for you to snack on as he tells you all about his drama."

Dylan gives him a smacking kiss on the forehead. "You have the best ideas."

"I do," Mitch agrees, flashing him a smile. "See you in a week, okay? And, like. Probably I'll text you when I get there."

"Okay." Dylan leans in for one last hug, silently grateful that he has Ryan's drama to distract him from his own.

The drive over to Ryan's doesn't take too long in the middle of the morning; even with a stop for cookies, Dylan makes it in under an hour. When he knocks on the door, Ryan opens it wearing sweatpants and a stained T-shirt. He looks like he spent an entire weekend playing NHL 16, forgetting all about unnecessary things like food, sleep, and hygiene.

"Shit," Dylan says, pushing his way in. He's suddenly a little afraid that Ryan and JT broke up, or whatever you call it when your sorta-kinda-boyfriend wants to call it quits.

"I'm fine," Ryan blatantly lies.

"And I just found out I'm having quadruplets," Dylan says flatly. "In other words: bullshit."

Ryan grimaces. "We're not—He's training with Crosby, so they can get used to playing on the same team again."

"Okay," Dylan says, dragging it out. "What's the rest of the story?"

"I screwed up with the party, but John thought he was the one who screwed up." Ryan shrugs. "I think I ended up apologising for apologising?"

Dylan snorts. "So you guys both fucked up a little, and then he ran away to Vail?"

"I don't actually know where they're training," Ryan corrects. "And it's not running away, it's getting some space to think. Or something."

Now Dylan's really glad Mitch had suggested the cookies. He pulls them out of the shopping bag and holds them out. "We can eat stuff we're not supposed to eat and watch reality TV," he offers. "Or, like. If you want to talk about it, we can talk more."

Ryan takes the cookies and hugs them to his chest. "There's not much to talk about. And I've watched so much TV I think I sprained my eyelids."

"That's code for _there's definitely something to talk about, I just don't wanna_ ," Dylan says. "Cookies, milk, sofa. C'mon, better out than in with all the feelings."

Ryan sets the cookies down on the coffee table, and while he's getting them drinks Dylan unpacks the rest of his horde. He didn't exactly grab one of everything, but he wasn't the most discriminating snack-purchaser, either.

Ryan comes back, taking a solid five minutes to place their glasses just right on the coasters, and Dylan lets him stall as long as he wants. If Ryan doesn't want to talk he won't, so it's better to let uncomfortable silence reign until he thinks breaking it is his own idea.

Finally, Ryan sighs. "I like him more than I meant to," he admits.

Dylan slings an arm around his shoulders. "Feelings are hard. But they don't have to be a bad thing."

"Except they keep making me fuck things up," Ryan says, leaning against Dylan a little. "Like, if we had just been roommates this whole time, I absolutely would've invited him to the party? But it felt... I don't know, different. Inviting him when we were..."

He doesn't have to finish the sentence; Dylan's been involved this whole time.

Dylan's never been good with the subtle approach, and he doesn't think it'd work with Ryan anyway. "Did you tell him how you feel? Do you even _know_ how you feel?"

"He wants me to figure things out," Ryan says, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm not sure where to start."

"You said you liked him more than you meant to," Dylan prompts. "That's already a start. You just have to figure out what to do with that."

Ryan sighs miserably. "Exactly. How is it a good idea to date my captain? What if I get sent down again and we break up? What if they keep me up but it's not because I deserve it? What if they trade me—"

"What if I had never gotten together with Mitch because I knew there was no shot we'd be drafted together?" Dylan interrupts. "What if I hadn't even given him a chance, because we played on different teams in juniors and we were gonna be on different teams for the rest of our careers?" He softens his voice a little. "It's not easy, but I love him anyway. If you like JT enough to want to date him, Ry, then I say give it a shot, but if you think it's not worth it, then you need to tell him sooner rather than later."

"Damn it," Ryan replies, "I was afraid you'd say something like that."

Dylan knocks his head gently against Ryan's. "At least you won't end up like me," he says, nodding at where Aiden is waking up and making her presence known. "Definitely no chance _you'll_ end up shotgun married, Mr. G-Negative."

Ryan grins, and waggles his hand over Dylan's belly. "Can I?"

"Here," Dylan says, grabbing his hand and putting it over where she's kicking.

"Hi, kid. Bestest niece." Ryan has the proud-uncle-gooey-face look _down_. 

"Aiden," Dylan replies softly.

Ryan's face gets impossibly softer. "Really?" he all but squeaks.

"Yeah," Dylan confirms. "We're putting it on the thank you cards for the party."

"What's her middle name?" Ryan asks, bending down until he's face-to-face with Dylan's belly. "Hi, Aiden. I'm your favourite Uncle Ryan. There are impostors, but I'm the best one."

Dylan opens his mouth to reply and then realises: shit. They forgot that part. "We're still deciding on a middle name," he says instead of admitting it out loud.

Ryan looks up and arches an eyebrow. "You mean you don't have everything perfectly figured out?"

"Wow, you caught me," Dylan says dryly. "We know where we're getting her crib and dresser, but we're still trying to figure out a changing table. That make you feel any better?"

"Tell me every last detail of what you're trying to figure out. I need to know I'm not the only one who's a mess," Ryan teases.

"Oh my god, our shopping list has so many question marks on it," Dylan groans, reaching for his phone. "Crib and mattress, check. Sheets, who knows. Dresser, yeah; like I said, no idea on the changing table. We were thinking about a rocking chair, because a lot of the parenting sites recommend them, but we're not sure where to find one that's not, like, a zillion dollars."

Ryan blinks at him. "Oh. Right, sorry. You're both infants."

Dylan elbows him in the ribs. 

"Hey! I'm just saying, what are older brothers for?" Ryan sits up and slings an arm around Dylan's neck. "Don't worry, she's going to have the coolest nursery ever."

"Ryan," Dylan protests. "You don't have to buy a whole bunch of shit, come on."

"Well, as you pointed out, I'm never gonna have kids the natural way if things work out when I tell John I think I wanna date him," Ryan says. His smile is a little shy, and Dylan hugs him. "Let's go shop for Aiden."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "If you really think retail therapy's going to help, who am I to say no?"


	27. Chapter 27

Dylan feels like August passes between one doctor's appointment and the next without him noticing; one day Mitch is leaving for World Juniors camp, and the next they're closing on their house. It's a little surreal to be walking around in a big, empty house, if Dylan's being honest with himself. It won't be empty for long, but right now it's like a cavern. There's still so much to do, and Dylan only has just over a month before the baby's here. He's really looking forward to not feeling like a whale, but he's also starting to panic that they don't have enough time. Thank god Mitch and Connor don't have training camps coming up yet, because it feels like every single other person Dylan knows has disappeared.

"Hey," Connor says softly. "You know I can just hire a decorator, right?"

"I think you're going to have to," Dylan says, doing his best to turn around and look at everything all at once. He has given up on doing anything gracefully. "I mean, we can move in what we have, and it's a lot? But it's gonna need a lot of work, and everyone's so busy."

"Yeah," Connor agrees. "Ryan and I only have a week before World Cup camp."

Dylan groans. "Why does that clusterfuck of a tournament have to be this year?" he whines.

"Because Bettman," Nuge says, his irritation echoing off the bare walls.

"You could get the flu," Dylan suggests. "You could all get the flu. He can't force you to play if you're sick."

"I'm really sorry, Stromer," Connor replies.

Mitch comes wandering out of the kitchen, eyes wide. "Do we have plates?" he asks, looking around. "Like. And cups? Bowls? Because I know we have bottles, but those are definitely Aiden's."

"Um." Dylan thinks about it for a minute, but he comes up with nothing. "We don't even have beds. I think plates and stuff come way after that."

"Okay," Connor says, clapping his hands together and nodding. "Let's get all of Aiden's stuff over here today, and then figure out what we need. I'll call someone in the morning and give them a list."

Dylan puts his hand on his huge stomach. "You move things, I'll direct."

"Of course," Nuge says, smiling at him. "You guys head back to Markham and get the stuff you have there, and Connor and I will—"

The doorbell rings, and they all look at each other.

"I didn't call anyone," Mitch says. "Did one of you call someone while I was in the kitchen?"

"No," Connor says, heading for the door. "I hope it's not, like, neighbours. It's way too soon for neighbours."

Nuge squares his shoulders. "Only one way to find out."

Connor opens the door cautiously, peeking out. He stares for a second, then turns back to the rest of them. "Uh..."

"Move, this shit is heavy," someone yells, and Connor pulls the door open to reveal Ryan backing in the door, supporting one side of the crib they picked up from Mitch's aunt and uncle a few days ago.

Dylan kind of expects JT to be holding the other end of the crib, but he's totally wrong. Instead, he has to work not to let his jaw drop as PK Subban beams at him. "Hey, man! Congratulations! Where's the baby's room?"

"Uh. Upstairs?" Dylan shakes his head, not entirely sure this is really happening.

"Ryan knows where it is, just keep walking," Chris says as he walks in with a box full of baby things. He grins at Dylan and Mitch. "So, Ryan and I figured that you guys could use some help moving stuff in. He told JT, and, well." He shrugs, and that's when Steven Stamkos pushes a stroller into the house.

"What is this, All Star furniture removal?" Mitch says, stunned.

"We're not _re_ moving it, we're just moving it," Hallsy says as he brings in yet another box.

Dylan can't help it; he starts laughing. "Is there an NHL clown car nobody told me about?"

"I wish. This thing barely fit into my car," their last guest says as he struggles through the doorway with playpen. He looks really familiar, but Dylan can't place him. "Hi, I'm Matt," he says, setting the playpen down and holding out his hand. 

"Matty Moulson," Subban shouts from the top of the staircase. "Is this how you're getting rid of all the baby stuff? Does Eichel know you're giving supplies to _the enemy_?" He waggles his eyebrows.

"Jack's a big boy," Matt calls back. "He's leaving home this season; he'll learn to live with it."

"Jack and I are actually friends," Connor says, rolling his eyes. "I'm not the enemy. And he likes Dylan just fine anyway."

Nuge snorts. "Jack likes the idea of stealing Dylan's baby."

"He can try," Mitch says darkly. "I will end him."

Dylan decides not to touch that one, and slowly makes his way upstairs to direct traffic.

Chris is in the nursery, ordering JT and Stamkos around pretty effectively. He smiles when Dylan comes in. "Hey, I'm not sure where you want everything, but I had them start putting stuff together."

Dylan snorts. "Then you should escape before things get ugly." He leans towards Chris and pitches his voice at a stage whisper. "They're hockey players. Life skills are optional." JT grins at him, and Stamkos just shakes his head. They're friends with PK Subban; they've probably heard a lot worse chirping.

"So, uh," JT says, still grinning at him. He's been doing that a lot more lately, and Dylan sort of wonders how much Ryan told him about Dylan's advice being what gave him his much-needed kick in the pants. "We might have called a couple guys, and they might have called a couple more? So most of the stuff you guys didn't have, well, you've got it now. Hand-me-down stuff, for the most part, but I don't think there's any big stuff left that you're going to have to buy."

"What?" Dylan is just—What the—He needs to sit down.

"Hey, easy there," Chris murmurs, grabbing Dylan's elbow and steering him towards the rocking chair Dylan hadn't even seen them bring in.

Dylan sits down and blinks up at Chris. "You did this. You and Ryan—you're nuts."

"We're older brothers," Chris corrects. "Things have been crazy for you guys, yeah? And when I mentioned maybe helping you guys move, Ryan jumped right in and said he'd call some people. And then JT knew a few guys who were looking to get rid of some of their baby gear. It was kind of perfect timing."

JT ducks his head. "I'm an older brother too."

Dylan is definitely tearing up. "Thank you," he chokes out.

Stamkos makes himself scarce, which is nice of him. Dylan doesn't want to bawl in front of someone he barely knows. Mitch barrels in a moment later, nearly skidding his way into a crouch in front of Dylan. "Babe?"

Dylan flaps a hand at the half-assembled crib. "This is just," he manages, dropping his hand into his lap.

"It's a lot," Mitch agrees, leaning up to kiss Dylan's cheek.

"It's happy crying," Dylan insists, breath hitching.

Mitch smiles at him, impossibly soft. "Oh good, because I was going to say, we can always hire people to fix whatever these guys try to put together."

"You'll probably have to do that anyway," Dylan says, managing a watery smile. "But, like. Did you talk to Ryan?"

Mitch glances over his shoulder at JT, who's pretending to be part of the wall. "Yeah, Ryan mentioned calling in the cavalry."

"Boychuk said if there was anything else you guys needed, to just let him know," JT volunteers. "Or, like. I don't know what you're planning for after, for when you're in New York with us, but I'm willing to bet Boych already has a bunch of stuff set aside for a nursery for you there." He scurries out of the room before Dylan has time to react, because apparently being an NHL captain has given him finely-tuned instincts on when to make a swift exit. He's just in time, too, because that's when Dylan starts gross hiccup-sobbing. Being pregnant is _hell_ on his sinuses.

"She's got the best extended family in the world," Mitch says, getting up so he can lean in and hug Dylan properly.

"Just don't make me try to feed them," Dylan chokes out.

Mitch laughs a little. "We ordered pizza," he says. "And Nuge went to get a bunch of paper plates."

Dylan sighs. "I miss liking cheese."

"Soon," Mitch promises, resting his hand on Dylan's belly.

"But not until after everything's ready," Dylan says, wiping at his face. "Including her. She's not done in there yet."

"We'll get there," Mitch says confidently, and Dylan can't help believing him.

-0-

Connor calls a decorator to take care of the furniture that they need, but for some reason neglects to mention things like plates and towels. Dylan opts out of the Walmart trip, and to his surprise, Nuge decides to stay home with him instead of going with Connor and Mitch.

"They're going to come back with, like, neon orange towel sets," Dylan warns.

Nuge shrugs. "Then we'll make Connor tell people he wanted a Flyers themed bathroom."

"Brutal," Dylan says admiringly. "Wanna help me fold baby clothes?"

Nuge raises an eyebrow. "How many clothes can you possibly have? And, like, aren't they tiny? They can't take up _that_ much space."

"Is that what you think?" Dylan asks, laughing. "You were at the baby shower, man, and at least two of those boxes that Moulson sent up are packed full of tiny little baby dresses."

"So you're saying it's a good thing I have soft hands," Nuge quips, reaching for a box. Dylan just grins. When Nuge looks down into the box, his eyes go wide, and then his face gets the impossibly gooey expression Dylan has termed "baby face." He pulls out a onesie that reads _Hi, I'm new here._

"Oh my god," he says, grinning at it. "This is fucking adorable. She has to wear it."

"Prepare to say that a hundred more times," Dylan advises.

Nuge looks up, eyes widening. "Is she gonna be able to wear it all before she gets too big?"

"I aim to try."

"Fair," Nuge concedes, doing a passable job of folding the onesie up. "How are you setting up the dresser?"

"Littlest stuff in the top drawers," Dylan replies. "I'm pretty sure I won't be able to bend down for a while after the C-section."

Nuge makes a valiant attempt to hide the horrified expression that flickers over his face, and Dylan snickers. Then he tries to get up and put away the pile of clothes he's managed to sort out.

"Um. I think sitting on the floor was a mistake," Dylan admits after a couple minutes of failure.

"Probably," Nuge agrees. "Should I try to just lift you, or is there a better way to do this?"

Dylan sighs. "If you help me roll, I might be able to get up from my knees." It's embarrassing and undignified, but Mitch is smaller than Dylan in every way, so they've had to get creative.

To his credit, Nuge just nods and kneels down next to Dylan. "Let's do this," he says, offering his hands. "Direct me."

Dylan's red-faced and laughing by the time he manages to get up.

"Well, that's something to not look forward to," Nuge says as he bends down to pick up the clothing that Dylan had folded.

Dylan freezes. "Wait, are you—"

"No!" Nuge interrupts quickly, face going red. "No, definitely not. Just... a thought for the future."

"Aww," Dylan coos. "Did meeting the in-laws get you thinking?"

Nuge grimaces. "Meeting with the in-laws was less awful than I thought, but I think Cam knows things."

"Cam knows everything," Dylan says seriously. "What in particular do you think he knows?"

"He made a bunch of _helping hand_ jokes," Nuge replies, blushing furiously.

Dylan cracks up. "Sounds like Cam, yeah."

"I just have to come up with a way to bribe him not to talk to my brother," Nuge says darkly.

"You don't have a shot, bud," Dylan says, patting him on the shoulder. "Cam gave Mitch a shovel talk when he and I got together, and he's not even my actual brother."

"Why is the World Cup a thing?" Nuge whines.

"The Bettman-lympics?" Dylan replies. "Because the commissioner has a bad case of Napoleon-itis."

Nuge petulantly folds a pile of tiny shirts, grumbling about how normal people don't have to worry about their families meeting until they get married.

"You can try to send Bettman the therapy bill," Dylan suggests, opening the closet and pulling out one of the tiny baby hangers so he can work on the pile of poofy dresses.

"Yeah, as if that'll work."

"I did say try," Dylan points out.

"Enough of my pain," Nuge says. "Tell me about yours. You and Mitch have brothers; how awful are they?"

"They're the best, pretty much," Dylan says breezily. "They orchestrated that whole move-in party, which was great. Ryan's been awesome about the whole kid thing for almost the whole time, and Chris has been to every single prenatal appointment I've had in the last month, _and_ the baby classes Mitch and I did."

Nuge blinks. "No offence, but I kinda hate you."

Aiden kicks hard enough that Dylan jumps a little. He scowls at his stomach, then at Nuge. "I think she took that personally."

"Sorry," Nuge says immediately, looking guilty. He looks down at Dylan's belly. "Hey, no beating up on your dad just because I'm a jerk."

Dylan clears his throat a little. "Papa," he corrects. "Mitch is Dad." They've had a lot of baby conversations over the past month, everything from deciding what they wanted to be called to thinking about who would be Aiden's legal guardian if something were to happen to them.

Nuge grins at him. "Okay, Papa."

It's not the first time he's heard it, but it still makes Dylan smile, wide and happy. He's a month away from actually having a baby who's gonna grow up and call him Papa. Aiden rolls and kicks, almost like she's impatient to meet him too. Dylan pulls another dress out of the box, but almost drops it when he hears a loud clanging sound from downstairs.

"I think we're gonna have to call somebody to look at the garage door opener," Nuge observes.

Dylan snorts. "Yeah, sounds like it. Think it's the husbands?"

"If you weren't pregnant I'd punch you," Nuge informs him.

"Mitch is keeping a list," Dylan says cheerily. "I think he thinks he's gonna get me to sleep on the sofa or something. He's wrong, for the record."

"We brought lunch!" Mitch yells up the stairs.

"What is it?" Dylan yells back.

Nuge clutches his hands to his chest. "So fucking romantic."

"We got nutritionist-approved hockey food for the three of us, and then I made Davo go to Panera Bread so we could get you soup in a pretzel bowl," Mitch calls back. "And I made them put the soup in a container and stick the pretzel bread in a bag, so it's not gross and soggy."

Dylan grins. "That's super fucking romantic." He hip checks Nuge into the wall, with a pretty awesome assist from Aiden and the extra baby weight, and heads downstairs to make them all wish they could break their diets.

-0-

Over the next week, Ryan proves himself to be a worse Dadzilla than Dylan and Mitch combined. Dylan _loves_ his brother but he also kind of wants to strangle him, especially when he bickers with Connor over every last little detail of the nursery. Thank god World Cup training camps are coming up.

"What colour did they both hate?" Mitch whispers to him after one of the Ryan vs. Connor baby battles. "I vote we go with that one. Get them united on at least one thing."

"A mobile, with little Flames and Rangers mascots," Dylan suggests. He doesn't want to paint the entire room red, because his eyeballs won't thank him for it, but he can't pass up the opportunity to mess with them.

Mitch snorts, and calls out, "Congratulations, guys! When's your baby due?"

Ryan flips them both the finger without pausing in his impassioned speech about whatever colours he's got on the paint chips in his hand.

"You'd think they would just say blue and orange," Dylan says. "I mean, Islanders, Oilers."

Connor turns to them with a wounded expression. "You said nothing heavily gendered! We can't paint the nursery blue."

"Robin's egg," Ryan corrects.

"Blue," Connor insists. "And they vetoed it months ago."

"I really just meant we shouldn't paint it bubblegum pink," Mitch mutters under his breath to Dylan.

Dylan shushes him. "I don't think they'd notice if we left to get popcorn."

Mitch's whole face lights up. "Let's leave and get _paint_ ," he says. "They can't argue colours if we come back with one we like."

Dylan grabs Mitch's hand. "Let's tell Nuge, he'll keep them occupied," he says. The decorator will be _so_ happy; she's about ready to strangle Ryan too.

Picking colours for the nursery is surprisingly fun without the bickering twins. They pick out a few swatches on their own, then compare; Dylan's got a pale yellow, a light orange, and a minty sort of green, and Mitch has a dusty blue, a bright lavender, and the exact same green. Mitch presses their matching green swatches together and makes a kissy noise. Dylan's embarrassed to know him.

"I changed my mind, let's do the yellow," Dylan says, pulling his swatch away. He can't help the way he's grinning, though.

Mitch bites his lip. "What do we do now?" He gestures at the rows and rows of different types of paint.

"Call the decorator," Dylan decides pretty much immediately. "Or, like. We can drop the swatch off to her, probably."

Mitch bats his eyelashes. "Can I get one of those little test pots, just to mess with the Dadzillas?"

"Absolutely," Dylan says, grinning. "Wait, what if we get two, but two of the same? And then we tell them we need their help choosing between the colours..."

"You're an evil genius," Mitch declares.

"I've been getting revenge on Ryan for nineteen years and counting," Dylan replies, gesturing at the test paints. "I'm just glad I'm not losing my edge."

Mitch pats Dylan's stomach. "Not _all_ your edge."

"It's a good thing I love you," Dylan grumbles. "Let's pay and then make Davo and Ryan make faces at us."

When Mitch turns to grab the test pots, Dylan swats him on the ass to teach him a lesson about teasing pregnant people. Mitch just wiggles his hips, though. Dylan mutters to himself about investing in obedience lessons, and they head for the checkout.

It's totally worth it when Ryan and Connor each open their little paint tubs and make hmmm-ing noises.

"I like it," Ryan says, still hiding it from Connor.

"Well, I don't know, I kinda like this one," Connor says, shielding it from Ryan's view.

Mitch is almost crying with laughter beside Dylan.

Ryan narrows his eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Mitch wheezes. "I'm just really glad you each like your paint so much."

Dylan smacks his forehead. "We should've got paintbrushes, so you guys could try them out on the wall and see how they look in the light."

"Wait a fucking minute," Connor says suddenly, scowling at Dylan. He thrusts his paint can at Ryan. "Are these the exact same colour or something?"

Mitch smiles at him, all teeth. "Would we do something like that?"

"You absolute bastards," Ryan breathes, looking at Connor's paint. "I can't believe we both actually fell for that."

"You both said you liked it, no takesie-backsies," Mitch says immediately.

Ryan dips his fingers in the paint pot and swipes some over Mitch's cheek. Dylan takes that as his cue to run for it. Or, well, waddle for it.

"Don't get any paint on the furniture or Chris'll murder you!" Dylan calls over his shoulder. He can add "get to skip stupid wrestling matches" to the list of pregnancy perks.

-0-

Mitch definitely needs to make the Leafs this season, so when they start their pre-pre-training camp stuff, Dylan urges him to go. It's around the same time that the World Cup camps start, so Dylan goes from surrounded by people all the time to it being just him and Mitch's family. He loves his in-laws, he really does, but at the same time, he needs to go be elsewhere for a little while. As it so happens, Ryan's hanging around a suddenly-empty house too. He's trying to pretend he's not moping, and he's hilariously bad at it.

"Hi," he says gloomily when he opens the door, and it's all Dylan can do not to laugh right in his face. He could probably get away with blaming it on Aiden, but he wants to save that excuse for when he really needs it.

Dylan pushes his way inside and drags Ryan into a hug. "Ew, you're all sweaty," Ryan complains, but he doesn't pull away.

Dylan snorts. "It might not be that hot outside but I'm carrying a baby dragon."

"But a really cute one," Ryan says immediately. He smiles down at Dylan's belly, and it's the first not-raincloud expression Dylan thinks he's had in probably days. 

"Okay, Grumpy Bear," Dylan replies. "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you or do you want to try to beat me at NHL 16?"

"Hockey," Ryan whines, which is probably an answer to both of those things. He does grab Dylan's bag and walk towards the bedrooms, though.

"Which one's your room?" Dylan calls after him.

"All of them, my name's on the lease," Ryan yells back. "Or, like. Half of them? Or every one is half mine."

Dylan wrinkles his nose. "Does that mean you've fucked in every room?"

Ryan pops out of one of the doors at the end of the hall. "I can answer that question, but you can never un-know." He gestures inside. "I promise the sheets are clean."

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "I'm choosing to believe you, because you wouldn't do that to Aiden."

"I have had nothing to do in the past two days," Ryan says, moodiness setting back in. "I think it's cleaner in here right now than it is after the cleaning people leave. I've washed everything."

"Wow." Dylan places his hands on Ryan's shoulders and says, dead serious, "It sounds like I got here just in time."

Ryan makes a face. "I don't know, it's just..." He heaves a huge sigh but doesn't go on.

Dylan waits for a minute, but Ryan stays stubbornly quiet. "Hockey time?" he asks eventually.

"I kind of want to talk about it," Ryan mutters, looking anywhere but right at Dylan. "I can't decide if that makes me an actual adult, or if I'm just whining."

Dylan drags him over to the bed and makes him sit down. "You whine, I'll hug."

They arrange themselves on the bed as well as they can; Dylan's getting past the point of any position being a comfortable position, but they manage. Once they settle down, Ryan mumbles, "He doesn't want to live with me this season."

Dylan makes a vague, supportive noise but he doesn't say anything; Ice Dogs spook easily.

"I don't know how to feel about the whole thing," Ryan goes on. "Like, his reasons make sense, kind of? But I don't want to not live with him."

Dylan gets a sinking feeling in his stomach that for once has nothing to do with Aiden practising her back check. "Is it because of me?"

"No," Ryan says, drawing it out a little. "I mean, partly? But there were a bunch of things he said."

"Okay." Dylan's not exactly reassured.

"He said he doesn't want to jump into everything right away," Ryan says, picking at the comforter. "And that having our own places means we can 'actually date.'"

Dylan blinks. "He wants to...? Wow."

"And he said he's really excited about Aiden, and it's not that he doesn't want to be around her or you," Ryan adds. "But that he should have his own space, and we should have ours."

Dylan has to admit, that _is_ a good point. "Not everybody wants to live with their captain."

Ryan blushes furiously.

"If you want," Dylan starts slowly. "I could figure it out, me and Aiden. If living with him is important to you, don't let us be the reason you don't even talk to him about it." He has no idea how he'd manage on his own; he feels bad for hoping Ryan shoots him down, but he's really, really hoping. He had to offer, though. "I don't know, maybe I could just stay in Toronto until next season? On IR?"

"Shut your face, _no_ ," Ryan says immediately, turning so he can give Dylan a smothering big-brother hug. He holds on for a little while before pulling back. "I'm just whining, okay? I don't like it, but like. We're still doing this. You're coming to New York when you're ready, and you're gonna skate with the team and get to playing, and Aiden's gonna grow up in the two best cities on the planet."

Dylan wraps his arms around Ryan and squeezes. "Slowing things down with JT doesn't mean stopping. It means he really likes you."

"We've lived together since I was drafted," Ryan says miserably. "I finally got my head out of my ass and we talked, and the past two months have been great. This feels like a huge step backwards."

"Think of it this way: you can have reunion sex whenever you want, because you're on the same team." Dylan would like it to be noted that he's the best brother in the world, because he can talk about Ryan having sex without shivering so hard his spine pops. "And it's not like you're moving five hundred miles from him, y'know? It's a half hour cab ride at most."

Ryan takes a deep breath. "If you ever tell him this I'll kill you, but I'm kinda worried about him burning himself on the coffee maker."

"That is a legit concern," Dylan agrees. He's seen pre-coffee JT often enough to know. "Get him one of the really, really simple Keurigs. He can set it up the night before so all he has to do in the morning is push a button."

"Okay, but..." Ryan pulls back and squints at Dylan—it's his _brace yourself for stupid_ face. The face he made before breaking his arm trying to jump his bike over a goal net. "I don't want him to replace me."

"That is _not_ a legit concern," Dylan says, shoving at his shoulder. "Look, do you honestly not know how into you he is? Because I can try to explain it to you, but if you don't get it by now, I'm not even sure where to start."

"I want to be in two places at once but I can't, and it sucks," Ryan whines.

"Welcome to adulthood," Dylan says, trying not to snap at Ryan. He's going to be in a different fucking country from his husband, and he's going to have their kid on his own for most of the year. He loves Ryan and he gets the frustration, but at the same time, it's a little much.

"Okay, good talk." Ryan untangles himself and gets up to go.

Dylan grabs him by the wrist. "The hard parts are worth it if they get you where you want to be. Nobody likes training but we do it anyway, because it makes us better."

Ryan blinks down at him. "Are you making a hockey metaphor for my love life?"

"No!" Dylan says, defensive.

"Yes you are! I'm telling Davo!" Ryan breaks out of Dylan's grip and turns on his heel, running to put space between him and Dylan as he gets out his phone.

"Chasing him down is going to be so much easier once you're outside," Dylan says to his stomach. Aiden kicks in agreement.

-0-

Dylan is rooting for Connor's team in the World Cup, which means that he's directly opposed to Ryan and his undying devotion to JT ("Canada!" Ryan protests, but Dylan knows better). It helps that Canada drops their first game against the US, but North America steamrolls Team Europe twice in a row. Matt's rooting for himself, incredibly smug that his Bulldogs managed to beat the Otters. Dylan takes the high road and doesn't say a word about how many of last year's guys are at various rookie camps or in the NHL now.

All in all, though, it means Dylan's in as good a mood as he can possibly be in when he, Mitch, and Chris head to Dr. Hewitt's for his 36-week checkup. He's measured and weighed and tested for the millionth time but hey, at least the Combine prepared him for all this.

He's officially less than a month from the delivery date they picked, and he already feels like he's done all the growing he's able to do. When Dr. Hewitt asks if they have any questions, Dylan immediately pipes up. "How much bigger is she gonna get? There can't be any more room in there for her."

Dr. Hewitt smiles. "She's gaining around an ounce a day from now on."

"Whoa," Mitch says, eyeing Dylan's belly. He looks like he's doing the counting that Dylan's avoiding. "So she's gonna get a lot bigger."

Dylan glares at him. "Chris, do me a favour and punch him for me."

Chris totally obliges him, which means he's definitely Dylan's second-favourite Marner right now. "Is there anything we should be watching out for at this point, Doc?" he asks.

Dr. Hewitt nods. "You might start getting Braxton-Hicks contractions. It's your body warming up for delivering her, basically."

"Why?" Dylan whines. "I've felt... I guess it's that. But she's coming out the escape hatch, so I don't get why I have to deal with that."

"I know it's uncomfortable," Dr. Hewitt says. "But it helps with blood circulation for the baby."

"Ugh," Dylan says. It sums up his feelings pretty eloquently, really.

"You're almost there," Dr. Hewitt promises. "Everything looks good, so unless you have any other questions for me, we'll schedule you another appointment next week. And as always, call if anything comes up."

They thank her and make the next appointment on their way out. It's a streamlined process by this point, so it's not five minutes later that they're walking out of the building. "Lunch," Mitch says as he opens the passenger door for Dylan. "Chris, we're treating, but you get to eat whatever Dylan's in the mood for."

"I'll take it," Chris says, getting into the back as Dylan carefully buckles his seat belt.

They end up at a steakhouse, because it's one of few places without a salad bar for people to sneeze into. "No cheese," Dylan warns as they get their menus. "I'm pretty sure looking at it at this point would be enough."

"I'm getting steak," Chris says happily. "There's no cheese in steak."

Mitch glares at them both, then scours the menu for something that's on his meal plan.

They all manage to find something to order, which is sometimes a challenge. After the waitress leaves, Dylan looks at Chris. "So, we had a couple things we wanted to talk to you about."

"A couple things for you to think about," Mitch adds, chewing on his bottom lip.

"It's a good thing we just left the doctor's and I know she's fine," Chris says. "Otherwise this would be freaking me out."

Dylan snorts. "Trust me, nobody freaks out over her as much as we do." Then he thinks about it for a second. "Okay, maybe Ryan and Connor. But that's why you're here and not either of them."

"Also Connor's playing hockey and Ryan is glued to his television so he can watch hockey," Chris says, amused. "What's on your mind, guys?"

"Names," Mitch blurts out. "Who knew it was so hard to name a tiny human?"

"It's so hard," Dylan adds. "Like, there were so many lists before we decided on Aiden for her first name."

Mitch nods like a bobble head. "And lots of debate about which last name she'll get the least chirping for."

Chris nods along. "Do you guys need a vote or something?" he guesses.

"Kinda," Dylan says, in concert with Mitch's loud "Yes." Dylan checks to see how many people are staring at them now. Thankfully, most people are studiously avoiding looking, so it could be a lot worse.

Dylan clears his throat. "We narrowed down her middle name. We want something from one of our families, but I can't name her after my brothers—the McLeods are already on that train."

"Okay," Chris says, nodding. "So you're down to, what? Naming her after one of the grandmas? Because I have to tell you, I don't really want to get into the inter-grandma fight."

Dylan grimaces. "Neither do we, so we thought if you're okay with it—"

"Christine," Mitch cuts in, apparently unable to bear the suspense one more second.

Chris blinks at them. "Who's Christine?"

"This weirdo whose number was on the back of my jersey," Mitch explains.

"Wait," Chris says, eyes going wide. "You want to name her after _me_?"

Dylan stares at him, dumbfounded by Chris' surprise. Mitch's jersey number is Chris' birth year. When Mitch was drafted, Chris called it the best day of his life. This isn't coming out of nowhere. Dylan loves his brothers, okay, but Chris and Mitch are _tight_. Dylan talks to Ryan and Matt almost every day but they're still nowhere near Marner levels.

"Yeah," Dylan says slowly. "We want to name her after you, if you're okay with that."

Chris takes off his cap and hides his face. Dylan glances over at Mitch, but he's got a huge smile on his face as he looks at Chris. He pulls his napkin out from under his fork and pokes Chris in the arm. "Here, man."

Chris says a muffled thanks, and the napkin disappears.

"Is this a good reaction?" Dylan mutters when Mitch leans back towards him. "I feel like it is, but I can't really tell."

Chris flaps a hand at him and chokes out, "Give me a minute. I don't want to cry in public, dude, I have to live here all year round."

Luckily, their food arrives not too long after that, and Chris manages to pull himself together in the face of steak and potatoes. He shovels food into his face like a starving man, and Dylan can't help feeling like they broke him a little. He's sort of wondering if they should wait until they're back home to have the other part of this conversation. He'll leave that to Mitch; he definitely knows Chris better.

Dylan sneaks a glance at Mitch; he just shrugs and digs into his chicken and pasta. That's not exactly the helpful hint Dylan was hoping for, but whatever. He'll follow Mitch's lead; his steak smells amazing. It tastes great too, even if Dylan starts getting full way too soon. He's so hungry, but Aiden takes up so much space. He's become an expert at heating up just enough leftovers to fill him up without wasting any. Mitch gives him a hopeful look; Dylan doesn't have to slide his plate very far to get it out of Mitch's reach.

Chris snorts at them. "So, uh," he says when Dylan turns to look at him. "That's... a huge honour, guys. Thank you."

Dylan beams. "Like you said, we don't want grandma wars."

"I'm glad I can be the acceptable compromise, then," Chris says. He takes another bite and swallows before gesturing at them with his fork. "You said you had something else, too?"

Mitch takes a deep breath and reaches for Dylan's hand. "We wanted to talk to you about... Look, you know Mom and Dad have done everything for me, so I could have my career. And Dylan's parents are the same times three."

"Right," Chris agrees, looking between the two of them.

"We've been talking about a lot of stuff lately," Dylan continues when Mitch squeezes his hand. "And one of the things we want to have in place before Aiden's born is a plan for what happens to her if something happens to the two of us."

"Yeah, of course," Chris says. "Do you need me to witness a will, or...?"

"We wanted to ask you to consider being her guardian," Mitch says quietly. "And, like. You don't have to answer today, and we'll totally understand if you don't want to."

"Like. Her legal guardian?" Chris grips his cap like it holds the secret of the universe and he can't let it escape. "Shit. I need a beer."

"Hopefully it's not a thing that would ever be relevant," Dylan says. "And like Mitch said, if you're not comfortable with it, we'll ask someone else. We just thought you were a good choice."

Chris nods robotically, a smile starting to escape around the corners of his mouth. "I'll definitely think about it. And you guys can change your minds if you want; I'll be there for her no matter what."

"We're not gonna change our minds unless you don't want to do it," Mitch says. "We've talked it over a lot. Pretty much everything we had would be put into trust for her, and you'd have access to it for anything she needed. We could ask Mom and Dad, or Dylan's parents, but they're pretty much done with the parent thing now, you know?" He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "She'd have a chance at a normal life with you. A good life, even if we couldn't be there."

Chris gets up out of his seat, steps around the table, and pulls Mitch up into a crushing hug. "You guys," he says, choked up.

"And girl," Dylan adds, because if they're going to make Chris cry with baby talk he might as well go all-in.

Mitch sniffles. "This is what you get for being the normal one."

"We definitely weren't going to ask either of my brothers," Dylan says. He can only imagine adding a kid to Ryan and JT's already complicated life, and Matt's still a kid himself.

"Shut up and hug me," Chris replies, letting go of Mitch with one arm.

"Okay, well, stand there for like five minutes while I get up," Dylan says. It's a process these days. Chris obediently stands there and waits, but at least he doesn't laugh. Unlike _some_ people. Dylan elbows Mitch in the ribs when he gets close enough. "I'm gonna start keeping track of times you laugh at me, and every one's gonna be an extra dirty diaper for you," he grumbles.

Chris snorts. "I'll remind you, when you're too sleep deprived to remember what he did."

"This is why you're my favourite," Dylan says, doing his best to burrow into Chris.

"Hey! No fair," Mitch complains. 

Chris shoves him away and wraps his arms around Dylan as best he can. "Don't mess with The Guardian."

Mitch is torn between gooey face and outrage. Dylan laughs so hard he starts coughing, because Aiden hasn't left enough room for his lungs, either.

"Okay, okay," Mitch says, reaching out to rub at Dylan's back. "I'm an asshole, Chris is perfect, please stop coughing."

Dylan does his best, taking slow, even breaths as well as he can. It's not comfortable but, he thinks as Chris runs to get him a glass of water and Mitch keeps rubbing at his back, it's not all that bad.


	28. Chapter 28

The decorator finishes with the house the day before Mitch has to report to development camp; it's a little bit of a mad rush to move their clothes and stuff into the new house before he goes, but they manage. They make out in half the rooms in the house, to make some new memories. Dylan makes a mental note to be somewhere else the first time Nuge and Connor are home, just so he doesn't walk in on them doing the same.

It's a close thing, but when Mitch leaves the next morning Dylan manages to keep his shit together. At least until the door closes, and he's alone for the first time in forever. He makes the command decision to drive to Ryan's; he's in last-minute packing frenzy mode, so it should be good for some entertainment. The day passes quickly enough after that, and Ryan not-so-subtly invites Dylan to just stay until Mitch is done with camp on Sunday. Dylan feels a little ridiculous that he's only just moved into the house and he's already running away. Then again, Dr. Hewitt keeps reminding him Aiden could decide to appear any day now, and he really doesn't want to be on his own if he has to figure out whether or not to go to the hospital.

Dylan spends the rest of the weekend alternating between helping Ryan pack and teasing him mercilessly for how glued to the TV he is every time JT _might_ be on screen, even in post-game World Cup highlight reels. When JT finally does appear, Ryan makes a noise Dylan wishes he could unhear. "That goal was last night," he complains. "You saw it live. You already know what it looks like."

"Shh, here he comes," Ryan replies, transfixed.

Dylan's tempted to lean on the remote, but he's a little afraid he'd fall off the sofa if he tried it. Instead he levers himself up and heads to take a nap before tonight's game, like a true hockey player.

Ryan gets him up in plenty of time to get ready; he's going with a Team North America hat and a dark shirt instead of attempting to fit himself into a team shirt, so it doesn't take him long. Ryan runs interference when they get to the ACC, checking anyone who looks like they might knock into Dylan. It's at least a little hilarious, but Dylan's not going to pretend he doesn't need it at this point. He moves a lot slower these days, so when they get to the box everyone's already waiting.

"Hey!" Chris says, waving Dylan over. "I made sure nobody sitting over here had anything with cheese in it. You should be safe."

Dylan heads over and sits down heavily, really fucking glad to be off his feet.

"Hi," Mitch says, walking over with a glass of water that he hands to Dylan. "I had them bring this as soon as I walked in, so it wasn't super cold by the time you got here."

Dylan beams at him. "A+, would husband again."

"Wow," someone says from Chris' other side. He leans forward, and Dylan has to assume it's Nuge's brother Adam; they definitely look related. "You were not kidding. They're incredibly sappy."

Mitch raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to see Dylan Hulk out?" he asks, gesturing to Dylan's belly. "I'm pretty sure the two of them could take you."

"No offense," Adam says, surveying Dylan, "but I'm pretty sure I can outrun you right now."

Dylan snorts. "Dude. You're staying at my house."

"And if he asked, pretty much everyone in this room would hold you down," Connor's brother Cam chimes in. "Dylan's pretty good at getting people wrapped around his finger."

"It's not me," Dylan says, patting his belly. "The princess has a loyal following, though."

Dylan's mom comes over to bring him a plate of food, and the chirping cuts off abruptly like an angry coach just walked into the locker room. Dylan smiles at her. "Teach me your ways."

"You pick them up as you go," she says, handing him the plate and brushing her hand against his shoulder. "How're your ankles?"

Dylan snorts. "I think they're still in there somewhere, but they're not happy with me right now."

"I bet," she says, grimacing a little. "I'm sure everyone's telling you to prop them up, but it's a lot easier if you just swing your legs sideways on the sofa and stick a pillow underneath them."

Dylan nods, quietly happy they're getting back to a good place. He settles back and picks at his plate, surveying the room. There are a ton of people here; the McDavids and Nuge's family are here, and so are Dylan's parents and Ryan and Chris. He doesn't know the Nuges very well yet, but everyone else here is family.

Adam and Chris pick the chirping back up, drawing Cam into a frankly embarrassing argument over whose baby brother is the most awesome. Chris gets points for enthusiasm, as always. Ryan's wisely staying out of it; Matt might be at Bulldogs preseason camp already, but word would definitely get back to him if Ryan played favourites.

"You know who's actually the best?" Dylan cuts in loudly as they start arguing whether it's fair to include NHL stats since Mitch hasn't played there yet. They all look at him, and he points to his belly with both hands. "Baby girl's the best."

"Well, _obviously_ ," Adam says without missing a beat. "We're talking about _second_ best."

"And she won't be the younger sibling," Cam adds, "so it's not the same."

Dylan thinks about it for a minute before he comes up with a response. "Matt's junior team has only existed for one season, and they just beat my team."

"Okay, junior stats are fair," Chris replies, reaching for his phone.

"Puck's about to drop," Mitch says quietly on Dylan's other side. "Should we tell them, or should we let them miss it?"

Dylan rolls his eyes. "I don't know, they might cry."

"Well, that would be hilarious, and we could put it on Snapchat," Mitch says, grinning at him.

Mr. Nuge snorts from behind them. "I don't know that it's worth the crying, though," he says.

In the end it doesn't matter; Adam's head snaps up as soon as he hears the announcer call Nuge's name. "Look!" he says excitedly. "Aw, hey, they're standing next to each other in line."

"Connor's got the C," Cam says, sounding a little choked up. "I mean, we knew he was gonna, but..."

"I know," Dylan says. He's choking up a little, too. "Connor's the best captain."

Mitch grabs his hand and squeezes.

The game starts out scrappy, which surprises nobody who saw the Finland-Sweden slugfest in the exhibition round. Each team takes a penalty in the first five minutes; Finland squanders theirs, but Eichs pots a goal for North America, with Connor getting the secondary assist. Everyone else in the box gets on their feet and cheers; Dylan just settles for raising his glass and beaming so hard his face hurts.

"Did you see?" Cam asks excitedly. "What a beauty of an assist. Definitely worth a few points."

"There's a lot of game left," Adam says immediately. "And Mitch isn't even playing, so how's he supposed to get points?"

"Can I opt out?" Mitch asks loudly.

"No," Chris and Cam say at the same time.

"Loser's buying drinks tonight," Adam chimes in. They're quietly intense for the rest of the period, most likely because there are no more points on the line.

Intermission means that more food appears; as Dylan digests, he eats a little more, and Mitch doesn't once bitch about finding him something to snack on. Mitch does get increasingly squirmy and embarrassed, though, as the terrible Big Brothers Three get back into their juniors stats war. Dylan's never been so glad to have a younger brother.

The second is pretty much amazing. Gaudreau scores five minutes in, and it's followed two minutes later by one from Drouin. Nuge gets the primary assist, which of course Adam crows about. Then they're all struck speechless by a goal from MacKinnon towards the end of the second.

"Holy shit," Ryan breathes. "This team."

"They're good," Mr. McDavid says bluntly. "To hell with anyone who says they're not." There's a chorus of agreement, and Dylan feels right at home.

Finland manages to pull together enough to score once in the third, but that's all they get. Chris grabs Ryan in a headlock, dragging him into a hug celly.

"Time to celebrate!" he crows. "Older brothers only, so we can figure out who's the best without any more _interference._ " He makes a face at Mitch. Mitch makes a face back at him, because brothers.

"You're definitely coming with us," Cam says when Ryan tries to squirm away. "We've got _stuff_ to talk about." The look he shoots Mitch and Dylan is way more significant, as is the way Ryan abruptly stops fighting.

"Wait," Dylan says, alarmed. "What kind of stuff?" He regrets asking almost instantly. This is Connor's brother, and he _knows things_.

Sure enough, Cam's smile gets a little evil. "Oh, _things,_ " he says. "You know. Older brother stuff. Important stuff."

Dylan grimaces and turns to Mitch. "Take me home."

"Gladly," Mitch says. Normally he'd make that super suggestive, but he's looking at the brother contingent with as much alarm as Dylan's feeling. "Let's get out of here."

-0-

Ryan's flight to New York is early enough that Dylan told him to stay in one of the guest rooms for the night; by the look on his face when Dylan bangs on the door to get him up, he probably only made it that far because Adam was there to drag him home.

"Hi, big bro!" Dylan says loudly. "Your airport shuttle awaits!"

"I hate you," Ryan whines, scrunching his face up.

"No you don't. I totally won the little brother pool," Dylan says confidently. Ryan's stubborn; there's no way he allowed anyone else to win, and no way he would've gotten that drunk unless he was celebrating his victory.

Ryan glares. "Maybe Matty won."

"Maybe I'll let the Nuges drink all the coffee," Dylan counters.

"If you do, then you'll be the oldest Strome brother," Ryan says solemnly. "I will die."

Dylan steps forward and ruffles Ryan's hair. "We can't have that. I don't think I'd survive the big brother gauntlet."

"You'd've been fine last night," Ryan mumbles. lurching forward. "They wouldn't've been feeding _you_ drink after drink."

Dylan snorts. "And you couldn't possibly say no." When he's training, Dylan's seen Ryan say no to ice cream in the middle of summer. Even Crosby isn't that dedicated.

"It was for pride," Ryan says, straightening up a little bit. He slouches back down after a few seconds, though, wincing.

"Like I said: you're welcome." Dylan leaves then, so Ryan can pull himself together a little.

Breakfast goes fine, and the ride to the airport doesn't take too long. Saying goodbye takes a while; Ryan doesn't want to let go any more than Dylan does.

"I want updates all the time," Ryan finally says. He looks down. "And you be good, okay? I'm gonna come visit as soon as I can swing it."

Dylan nods, not trusting himself to say anything without his voice cracking.

"Okay, I'm leaving," Ryan says after another hug. "I'll call you later. And you'd better root for Canada in round robin play."

"You'd better root for Connor," Dylan replies, sniffling.

"Until they play each other," Ryan promises. He rubs Dylan's back, like he's a little kid who woke up from a nightmare.

Dylan takes a deep breath and pushes Ryan away a little. "You're gonna miss your flight."

Ryan picks up his duffel, waves with his free hand, and heads through the gate. Dylan watches until he can't see Ryan anymore, then turns and waddles his way back to the car.

When Dylan gets home, Mitch takes in his red eyes and drags him back upstairs to bed. "Cuddles," he says, pushing Dylan's body pillow into place and leaning into him. They've gotten good at this. Dylan sort of misses his otter, but the body pillow is way more comfortable; besides it's a little hilarious to leave it in the guest room for the unsuspecting to find.

The rest of their day isn't so much Netflix and chill as it is Netflix and nap. It's pretty great. They watch Connor's game that night; it's a narrow loss to Russia, and Dylan texts him a bunch of thumbs-ups after. Canada kills Team USA the day after that, and then Team North America wins against Sweden in the most breathless overtime Dylan's ever watched. He's a little afraid he's gonna spook Aiden into coming early with all his screaming, but it's an incredible game. Team North America cellies hard, which they totally deserve. They've done everything they can to proceed to the semifinals. Dylan keeps his fingers crossed for a miracle in the Russia-Finland matchup.

Unfortunately, Finland puts out the same effort they'd given all tournament, so Team North America doesn't advance. Dylan's crying as he texts Connor as many thumbs-up and hug emojis as he can find, and just for good measure, he sends a snap of Aiden flipping the bird in one of her ultrasounds, with a caption about her hating Bettman early.

Connor doesn't respond, but Dylan really wasn't expecting him to. Instead, he comes walking in the door with his gear bag a few hours later, looking so sad Dylan has to get up and hug him. "Stay there," he says, pointing to where Connor's standing. "Hug time. When I get there."

It makes Connor laugh, the quiet one that always makes Dylan think of their first year together in Erie. He drops his stuff on the ground and curls up on the sofa with Dylan instead. "Ryan took his family to the airport after we watched the game," he says. "They were gonna just cab it, but you know Ryan."

"I do know McNugget," Dylan confirms. 

Connor makes a face. "Oh god, never say that again."

Dylan blinks innocently. "What? It's not like your kids deserve to have triple-barrel last names. Nugent-McDavid-Hopkins."

"Of course not," Connor says, offended. "They'll have—" He shuts up abruptly, face going super red.

"Wait, don't tell me!" Dylan replies. "I want to be surprised."

"It's not like we're, you know, actually planning anything yet," Connor says, playing with the hem of his shirt. "But the conversation came up, so."

"When did you have time for the big talk?" Dylan's pretty sure he took up almost all their free time before the World Cup.

Connor refuses to meet his eyes. "Like... April? Around the end of the season."

Dylan stares at him. "Wow, that's... That's really fast."

"Yeah," Connor says. "We, uh. He asked me what you guys were doing? And then, well..."

Dylan tries to stop himself, because he _knows_ he's going to sound like a soccer dad, but he can't help it. "You don't have to rush into anything, Davo."

"We're not," Connor says. "I'm not. It just came up, and we talked about what we'd want to do. In the future, when we're ready for it."

"Good, because I'm pencilling you in for babysitting next summer," Dylan jokes.

"I have the feeling I'm gonna have to fight all sorts of brothers for that," Connor says, finally looking up and smiling. "Well, maybe not Ryan, since he'll be with you in Brooklyn, but Chris is a little scary."

"Aww," Dylan teases, ruffling Connor's hair. "There's only one Uncle Davo."

Connor makes a face, but he throws his arm around Dylan's shoulders. "I want so many photos," he says. "And I want to FaceTime her all the time."

"I solemnly swear to take a picture every time she blows a spit bubble," Dylan promises.

"Good," Connor says firmly. "Videos, too. Even if she's just sleeping or whatever."

Dylan makes a salute. "Yes, captain."

"Oh, and SnapChat," Connor says, like he's just remembering it exists. "And—"

"Oh my god," Dylan says, laughing. "I get it, okay? All the photos, all the time." At this point Dylan's seriously considering just making Aiden her own Instagram account. He's pretty sure if he brings it up to Mitch, it'll be set up within fifteen minutes. He's a little afraid it'll start with a bunch of pregnancy photos, though, so he's waiting on that one.

Connor sighs. "I'm sorry we couldn't win her the plastic trophy."

"She loves you anyway," Dylan says. "And seriously, who makes a plastic trophy? That thing is an eyesore."

"It could've been _my_ eyesore, if we weren't bitten by the injury bug," Connor complains.

"It would've been," Dylan says, knocking his head against Connor's. "You guys were on fire. Stupid Komarov."

"And poor Muzz," Connor says, sighing. "And it's not even like I can say we'll do better next time."

"You'll kick ass this season," Dylan promises. "And you showed everyone how wrong they were. That's more than enough."

"It was actually fun playing with Eichs," Connor says, smiling a little. "I followed him on Instagram because he said he'd never follow me back. Bets on how long until he does?"

Dylan grins, all teeth. "Just wait until you get to meet Aiden before him." Because if Connor has private pictures of himself with a tiny baby, Eichs will go nuts pretending he doesn't care. "You should put photos of you holding her on your Instagram. That'll get him to break."

"Who are we trying to break?" Nuge asks, arriving at the best and worst moment.

"Eichs," Connor says, grinning at Nuge like he's the best thing he's ever seen. "Stromer thinks if I put pics of me holding Aiden on Instagram, he'll follow me back."

Nuge's eyes light up. "We should queue up some of those gross team hug photos he hated, so we can spam him once he falls into the trap."

"This is why I love you," Connor says happily. "You have the best plans."

"I have plans too," Dylan cuts in. "They involve having food at some point this century." If he lets them make gooey eyes as long as they want, he and Aiden will _starve_.

" _Food_ ," Nuge says reverently. "Yes. Let's get food."

"He didn't eat before he took his family to Pearson," Connor stage-whispers.

Dylan shakes his head sadly. "That's just wrong, Nugget."

Nuge makes a face. "That was weak, sugar plum."

"Just wait until you have your own little McNuggets," Dylan says. "Then we'll see who's weak."

"We're definitely not calling them _McNuggets_ , oh my god," Nuge says, sounding horrified. "Also, don't ever tell Hallsy that one. I'm begging you."

Connor groans. "You just let Stromer sense weakness."

"I'll keep it to myself," Dylan says sweetly. "For a price. And the first part of that price is dinner."

"Anything you want," Nuge promises, and Dylan grins. He'll live to regret that, probably.

-0-

Mitch plays his first preseason game with the Leafs the night before Dylan's last prenatal appointment. They're playing in Halifax, thanks to the World Cup taking over Toronto, but Chris is absolutely showing why they're naming Aiden after him. Dylan's gotten to the point where he really doesn't mind if someone holds the door for him while he tries to waddle through. He's really, really ready for this whole thing to be over. It's only a matter of days now; it can't come soon enough.

"Want to do lunch?" Chris asks as he buckles himself in. "I'll buy."

Dylan grimaces. "Can we eat at home? I feel like a whale."

"Absolutely," Chris says. "Want me to order something in, or do you just want to do sandwiches or something?"

"I'm starving, but she probably won't let me eat much," Dylan says, resting a hand on his stomach.

"If you've got snack food at home, then you can eat that while I make chicken salad," Chris suggests. "Then you can have a little bit whenever you want."

Dylan settles in his seat and wriggles his toes happily. "Sounds good to me," he says.

As soon as they get home, he kicks off his shoes. His feet and ankles are swollen beyond comprehension; he'd be wearing flip-flops if he wasn't so worried he'd slip in them. Chris pulls out an extra chair, and Dylan props his feet up. "T minus eight days and counting," Dylan says gleefully.

Chris laughs. "I'd say I'm super excited, but nobody tops how excited you are, so I'm just gonna go make the chicken salad."

Aiden squirms, and Dylan pats his stomach to calm her down. It's surreal to think that a year ago, he was lacing up his skates for the Coyotes. He was so sure when they sent him back to Erie that he'd be back in a year and he'd make the team. That's definitely not going to happen now. Dylan can't say he regrets it, exactly, but with all his friends gone to kick ass at their camps he feels... off balance.

It was extra weird to watch Mitch last night, skating around in his Leafs jersey and playing on actual NHL ice. It had been amazing to see, but at the same time, Dylan felt kind of homesick for it. He's spent half his life at hockey rinks, but he hasn't been skating as much as he's used to, and after he has Aiden it'll be weeks before he heals enough to get back on the ice. He has the sudden urge to pick up a stick, to just hit a ball around in the driveway, but he doesn't trust his own balance at this point.

"Chicken salad for your thoughts," Chris says, setting a plate down in front of Dylan.

Dylan accepts the fork Chris hands him and takes a bite, staring at the plate as he chews and swallows. "I miss hockey," he finally says.

"Of course you do," Chris replies, his voice soft. "It's a big part of your life."

"I should be skating," Dylan goes on, words tumbling out of his mouth. "It's preseason. I missed training camp, and rookie camp, and I'm not gonna be on the opening roster."

Chris sits down opposite him. "You're on IR," he points out.

"Yeah," Dylan replies, stabbing at his salad a little. "And, like. It's legit, I know that, and I love her already? But... I'm missing so much."

"That sucks." Chris takes a bite of his salad and looks at Dylan, waiting for him to continue.

"It does suck," Dylan says. "It sucks _a lot_ , and I'm going to be out for a long time after she's born, and I'm afraid..." He sucks in a breath and wipes at his face. He's not actually surprised that he's crying. "What if I don't play again?"

Chris reaches out across the table and grabs Dylan's hand. "You will. I don't have a single doubt, no matter what it takes."

"Anything could happen," Dylan says, squeezing tightly. "Things could go wrong. I'm not afraid of the work, but it might not happen."

Chris nods. "I know, but you're the most determined person I've ever met, including Mitch. The way he used to talk about you it's like you were the hockey antichrist. Then he came back from the Hockey Challenge where you guys played together and he was actually quiet for once."

"That's when," Dylan says. He can feel himself blushing. "Uh, I don't know if he actually told you? But once we stopped hating each other, uh..."

"You had to put all that energy somewhere," Chris teases, raising an eyebrow.

Dylan shrugs, feeling like his face is on fire. "It's not like we went from hating each other to wanting to get married, but we definitely went into that tournament as rivals and came out dating." Not even just fucking, which is what Dylan had figured it would be. He'd been surprised by how much of a closet romantic Mitch had turned out to be, and, well. No version of Dylan, past, present, or future, would ever turn that down.

"See, that's what I'm talking about," Chris says, letting go of Dylan's hand so he can speak the language of Marners everywhere: extravagant pointing. "That was years ago, and the whole time since then your teams have been each other's main competition. But you made it work."

"Because we love each other," Dylan says. "And, not gonna lie, sometimes it sucked. Sometimes it sucked a _lot_."

"Having a kid isn't going to make it any easier," Chris acknowledges. "But you made a choice to do this together, and aside from hockey there's nothing Mitch is more serious about than you. Even when he can't be here, you won't be on your own."

"I'm gonna be in New York," Dylan says, swallowing hard. "Me and Aiden, and he's gonna be up here."

"You still won't be on your own," Chris says. "You've got Ryan, and JT would do anything for you and Aiden, too."

"I guess." Dylan stabs at his salad again, but he doesn't eat any more. "At least I know I'm good at hockey."

"You are," Chris agrees. "And you're a good husband, and you and Mitch are gonna be amazing parents."

Dylan sniffles, and tries to crack a smile. "At least I don't fail at basic life skills, right?"

"Okay, hug time," Chris announces, getting up and coming over to Dylan's side of the table. He leans in and wraps his arms around Dylan.

"Thanks," Dylan mumbles into his shoulder.

"It's okay that you're stressed out and worried, and it's okay that you miss hockey," Chris says, hugging him a little bit harder. "You're still my favourite brother, and you can tell Mitch I said that."

"I will," Dylan chokes out. Chris doesn't call him out at all over the way Dylan's crying into his shoulder, so maybe he's Dylan's favourite brother, too.

-0-

It's sunny and warm when Dylan wakes up on Aiden Day. He hopes that's a good sign. Mitch got in late last night from Ottawa, so he's still snoring. That's pretty normal, so Dylan decides that it's enough of a sign that yeah, things are gonna go well.

He lies there for a while until Aiden starts getting restless. She hates going hungry, but she's just going to have to deal; Dylan doesn't want the first thing she sees to be her papa throwing up. He'll just feed her after she's born.

"Happy birthday, kiddo," Dylan says softly. Mitch stirs beside him, scrunching up his face. Part of Dylan hopes she gets that expression, because it's kind of adorable. The rest of him just hopes she gets Mitch's hair instead of Dylan's, because it's annoying to take care of the curls when they get long.

Dylan pats his stomach one last time and then pokes Mitch in the shoulder. "Time to wake up, Dad."

"Few more minutes," Mitch mumbles into his pillow.

"Like three hours, actually," Dylan says, amused. "But we need to get to the hospital first."

Mitch's eyes fly open. "Fuck, what time is it?"

"Half past seven," Dylan says. "The alarm hasn't gone off yet, but someone's up and ready to see daylight, so I figured we could all get an early start."

"Ohhh." Mitch scoots down the bed and rests his hands on Dylan's belly, but he keeps his face a safe distance away. "Hi, Aiden. Impatient like your pops, huh?"

"One day, maybe you'll know," Dylan says grumpily. "This is not comfortable. I miss seeing my feet. I miss my feet not being grapefruits, too."

Mitch rolls out of bed and bows, holding out a hand to help Dylan up.

"Show off," Dylan grumbles.

"Soon," Mitch promises, wiggling his fingers. "After we meet her, though."

Dylan lets Mitch help him out of bed, and help him get changed, and help him remember to put everything he needs into his hospital bag. Turns out Mitch is a pretty okay husband.

He catches Mitch's hand as they're getting situated in the car. "Hey."

Mitch beams at him. "Hey. Come here often?"

"You're the worst," Dylan says, grinning at him. "C'mere, hug me." Mitch leans over and puts his arms around Dylan's neck, deftly avoiding the giant bump that is all Aiden. Dylan clings a little, but he's not the only one in this hug doing that. He sighs into Mitch's hair. "I love you."

Mitch turns and kisses him on the side of the head. "I love you too."

"We're about to be dads," Dylan says. "Like. _Really_ soon."

"No turning back now," Mitch agrees, holding on tight.

"It's, like, nine months too late to panic, right?" Dylan mumbles. He isn't, not really. Not... mostly.

Mitch just makes soothing noises and pets Dylan's hair.

Dylan hugs him as hard as he can manage with Aiden between them, then takes a deep breath and leans back. "Okay. Okay, let's do this."

Fighting their way through Toronto traffic is _awesome_ as per usual; by the time they get to the hospital and finish checking in, it's almost nine. Dylan's thirsty and starving, and he still has to get poked and prodded and shaved before they get to meet Aiden. 

"Go get some breakfast," he orders Mitch. "We won't go anywhere without you."

Mitch looks doubtful. "Your parents and Matty are on the way. I can wait."

"Go," Dylan insists. "You need food so you can hold her without dropping her."

"I'm not going to _drop her_ ," Mitch says, clearly offended, but he heads for the door. "Want anything?"

"Yeah, but I can't. Have some bacon for me." Dylan's pretty sure that isn't in Mitch's diet, but _one_ of them should get to eat for two.

"I'll be back soon," Mitch promises, and then he vanishes into the hallway.

"Okay, needle me while he's gone," Dylan says to the nurse. Mitch can handle seeing it, that's not the problem; his fascination, and telling Dylan all about seeing it? That's another story.

She laughs and pulls Dylan's arm out straight, swabbing the skin. "We're going to start antibiotics now to lower your risk of infection after," she says as she puts the IV in.

Several painful and embarrassing procedures later, Mitch comes back. "What did I miss?"

The nurse pats Dylan's shoulder. "He's all set," she says cheerily. "Dr. Hewitt will be in shortly to go over everything, and then we'll get to the OR and introduce you to your daughter."

Mitch waits two whole minutes for the nurse to leave before dropping into a celly.

"Oh my god, you're so embarrassing," Dylan says, groaning. "Is Matty here yet? He'll definitely agree with me."

"I'm here! I made it!" Matty yells, skidding into the room.

Dylan stares at him. "Never mind."

His parents walk in much more calmly a moment later. "I told you," Mom says, amused. "Hospitals don't run early, Matt. We didn't need to leave at seven."

Matt ignores them in favour of sticking his face close to Dylan's. "How are you doing?"

"I can hear you," Dylan points out. "I have a spinal block, not ear plugs."

Matt pulls back and surveys Dylan before reaching out a finger and poking him in the leg. "Does that mean you can't feel this?"

"Mom," Dylan whines.

Mom sighs. "You're gonna know what that sounds like really soon, and part of me is laughing," she says, but she grabs Matt's elbow and yanks him back.

Dylan gives her a wobbly smile. "I can't believe you did this three times."

"To be fair, I avoided the surgery," she says, walking over to the side of the bed so she can squeeze his hand. "You're doing great, honey. And soon you'll know exactly _why_ I did this three times."

Dylan squeezes her hand right back. He understands a little better, now, why she was so sure he wasn't ready. How _can_ you be ready for something this big? At least he sort of gets it now; that has to count for something.

Mom brushes his hair back from his face, and kisses him on the forehead. "We'll be right here, baby."

Dr. Hewitt walks in a moment later. "Ah, good, everyone's here. We've got the OR booked for an hour from now, so barring anything unexpected happening, we'll be meeting Miss Aiden right around noon."

Dylan's been in plenty of situations where an hour feels like an eternity, but he's pretty sure this won't be one of them.

Mom backs away so Dr. Hewitt can come over and check Dylan's IV. She asks him a few basic questions and nods along as he answers, then takes a step back. "Any questions for me before I go get ready?"

Dylan shakes his head. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"I'm glad to hear it," Dr. Hewitt says, smiling. "Anyone else? Mitch?"

"I did some reading," Mitch says, to the surprise of nobody in the room. "Can we have another person in the OR? So I can go with Aiden, and there's someone with Dylan while he's being stitched up?"

"We'll do all the weighing and measuring in the room, so you can stay with both of them," Dr. Hewitt says. "I don't foresee any complications, but if anything comes up, we can have someone else come in."

That's more than good enough for Dylan; he lies back and enjoys the fuzzy feeling of not being in pain. Mitch comes over a few minutes later and takes Dylan's hand, smiling softly at him. "Almost there."

Dylan clings until an army of nurses comes to sweep him away into the void. It's possible he's a _little_ high. He's rolled into a room with super bright lights, and the nurses get busy putting up a screen across his chest and rolling carts of things Dylan is decidedly not looking at closer to him.

Mitch's face pops back into view, and Dylan smiles stupidly. "Hi."

"Hi," Mitch says, smiling right back at him. "It's go time."

"Yaaay!" Dylan tries to raise his hands but they're stuck.

"Easy, babe," Mitch says, laughing a little. "You just lay there and smile for me, okay?"

"I can smile," Dylan says, baring all his teeth. There's a lot going on behind the curtain that he can't see—really doesn't want to see—but he can definitely smile. Smiling at Mitch is easy.

Mitch is definitely laughing at him, but Dylan can't bring himself to care at the moment. "Because I love you, I'm not recording this to show any of our brothers later," Mitch says, grabbing Dylan's hand.

Dylan squeezes tight through the uncomfortable part, and Mitch doesn't even flinch. That's probably one of the bonuses for a hockey level pain tolerance: you can handle your hand being crushed in a hockey level grip. There's some murmuring from the other side of the curtain, and then there's a high, wailing cry.

"Oh wow, that's her," Mitch says, somehow smiling even wider.

"Get her," Dylan says, clutching Mitch's hand tighter.

Mitch kisses him on the forehead. "You have to let me go first, Papa."

"We have a baby," Dylan says, smiling so hard his face should maybe hurt. Aiden is crying on the other side of the screen now, big, wailing sobs. "A really mad baby."

Mitch wiggles his hand free. "I'll go get her, and maybe she'll be a little less mad."

Mitch disappears for a minute, and Dylan turns his head to try to follow where he's going. When he comes back into view, he's holding a really, really tiny, really loud bundle of blankets, and he's got the most stunned look on his face.

Dylan promptly bursts into tears.

"You can't see with the little hat, but she has so much hair," Mitch says in a daze.

Dylan can't move his hands to wipe his face, so he just sniffles. "Is she okay?"

"She's perfect," Mitch chokes out. "Ten fingers, ten toes. She has your nose."

"Oh no," Dylan blurts out.

"She's gorgeous," Mitch says. He hasn't looked away from her once. "Oh my god, Dyls."

Dylan frowns, because he can't do anything else. "Let me see."

"Don't try to move your hands," Mitch warns. "You might smack her by accident." He comes closer and leans down, tilting his arms so Dylan can see.

"Hi Aiden," Dylan manages to choke out. "Hi baby girl." She settles a little when she hears his voice, but she still looks mad. "Can I hold her?"

Mitch glances at someone behind the curtain, then looks back to Dylan. "Stay still," he instructs, then shuffles closer and leans in so he can put Aiden on Dylan's chest. He keeps his hands on her, steadying, and Dylan's face-to-face with the prettiest baby in the entire world. Even her nose looks cute. It's sharp and pointed like Dylan's, and somehow it makes the rest of her face look even more soft and chubby.

She's blinking at him, and he smiles. "Hi, sweetie. Hi."

He turns his head so he can kiss her face everywhere he can reach. This is the best day ever.


	29. Chapter 29

Dylan's pretty hazy for the next few hours while the drugs wear off, but Mitch and Aiden never leave his sight, so he's okay with it. It's weird finally seeing her on the outside after all this time, but it's a good kind of weird. He made a person, and she's the cutest ever. They transfer him to a new bed once he's stitched up to Dr. Hewitt's satisfaction, and then they roll him into a private room, with Mitch carrying Aiden right alongside him.

Dylan makes grabby hands. "Gimme. You need to text my family."

Mitch presses a soft kiss to Aiden's head before carefully arranging her on Dylan's chest like he had in the OR. As soon as he pulls his phone out, though, the door opens and Dylan's family comes spilling into the room.

"Holy shit," is the first thing Aiden hears from her Uncle Matt.

" _Matthew_ ," Mom says from behind him. 

Dylan picks up one of Aiden's tiny hands and gently waves it at the door. "Hi, Grandma and Grandpa!"

"Holy shit," Dylan's dad echoes. Because Matt's eloquence is contagious.

"Chris!" Mom says sharply, reaching out to whack him on the arm. "She can hear you."

"Nah, she's fast asleep," Dylan says fondly. Aiden's clearly the smartest baby in the world; she knows that naps are the best.

"Oh," Matt says, looking crestfallen. "Does that mean I can't hold her?"

Dylan laughs. "I think that's the best time to hold her. Your face won't make her cry."

"Sit," Mitch instructs, pushing Matt towards the chair. He comes over and drops a quick kiss on Dylan's lips before carefully lifting Aiden and walking over to Matt. Matt's smile freezes into a grimace when he realises that asking to hold her means he actually has to _hold her_. 

"Wait, how do I," he asks, sounding a little panicky. Dylan's ready to tell Mitch to not let go of her when Dad steps up and positions Matt's arms. Mitch carefully hands over his cargo, and when he steps back Dylan has to suck in a sharp breath. Aiden's so small next to Matt she almost disappears.

"She's so tiny," Matt croaks out. "Why were you big as a house, Dyls? She's so _little_."

"Hey, Dad," Dylan says. "Can you take her so Mitch can punch him?"

"Don't worry," Dad says, voice a little wobbly as he steps away to take probably a million photos on his phone. "Mom and I are driving him back out to Hamilton when the Marners get here. We'll talk."

Matt's smile is still a frozen grimace of fear; Dylan's ridiculously happy Dad's recording it for all time.

"Okay, enough of that face," Mom says after a moment. She swoops in and picks Aiden up, tucking her gently against her chest. "Hi, sweetheart, I'm Grandma." Aiden grunts and snuffles like a little baby bear, but she doesn't open her eyes. Mom smiles down at her like she's the best thing in the world, and Dylan has to agree.

The Strome family baby parade turns out to be pretty fun. Mitch can't stop smiling and showing off. Eventually, though, Dylan reaches out. "Can I have my kid back?"

Mitch brings her over without hesitation, because he's the best.

"Think we can make Ryan cry on FaceTime?" Dylan asks, fitting his hands over Aiden's whole body, pretty much.

Mitch beams at him. "It's worth a shot."

"Hey, Matty, time to make Ryan feel things," Dylan says cheerily. "Can you hold the phone?"

Matt's a very eager cameraman, and Ryan does, in fact, end up feeling all the things. "I'm coming up tomorrow," he says, wiping at his face. "I can stay two days before I have to fly down to Washington, but I've got family leave approved, so I'm on the first flight out of here in the morning."

Mitch picks up Aiden's hand and puts in a squeaky voice. "Can't wait to see you, Uncle Ryan."

"Oh my god, stop," Ryan begs.

"We'll put her in the Isles onesie for you," Dylan promises.

"I have a game tonight," Ryan complains. "Quit making me want to skip it."

"We're covered here for tonight," Dylan says. "Mitch's family will be here pretty soon. Play your game, score a goal for your niece."

Ryan sighs. "Fine. Just make sure you send me a picture if she pukes on Uncle Chris."

"I'll put it on Instagram if she does," Mitch promises.

"Bye, little speck," Ryan says, waving at the camera. "I'll see you soon."

Dylan waves before Matt ends the call and puts his phone down. "I got a million screencaps of his face," he announces.

Mitch holds his hand out for a fistbump. "Little brothers unite."

Matt nods solemnly and bumps Mitch's fist. "Gotta stick together."

Dylan's vaguely sad Matt can't stick around to help them troll Chris, but hockey calls. Matt gives him a huge hug before he leaves, though. "All the pictures," he says firmly. "All of them. I want to wallpaper my stall with them."

"Don't worry," Dylan promises, gesturing to Mitch who's in the process of documenting their hug. "We've got you covered."

Matt walks to the door, stopping in front of Mom, who's still holding Aiden. "Be good," he says quietly, touching her little socked foot where it's sticking out of the blanket. "Love you, baby girl."

"Call us if you need anything," Mom says, reluctantly handing Aiden over to Mitch.

"We will," Mitch promises, leaning in carefully to give her a hug. "We'll see you guys tomorrow."

Dad hugs Dylan, and stops to kiss Aiden on the cheek on his way out. Then they're alone with their daughter for the first time. Dylan feels like he's going to explode with happiness for a few seconds, but then Mitch's whole face screws up. "She needs to be changed, I think," he says, moving his head back a little.

"I can't even sit up, so this one's all you," Dylan replies. He plasters on an innocent _I'm totally not laughing at you_ expression when Mitch looks over at him. Mitch's face brightens when a nurse walks in to check on them, and Dylan has to bite his lip to keep from losing it when she just walks him through how to change a diaper when the baby in question is crying and wiggling around.

"No, ew, don't put your foot in it," Mitch complains.

"You'll get faster at it," the nurse says. She's not bothering to hide that she's laughing.

Chris announces his arrival by calling out, "Where's my girl?" He stops short when he catches sight of Mitch being maximum dad.

"She's got poop where poop doesn't go," Mitch says, baffled.

"I think that's in her job description," Chris replies, but he looks baffled too.

"Watch," the nurse says patiently. She grabs a wipe and Aiden's leg, and shows Mitch how to safely move Aiden around so he can clean her up more effectively. "See? And now you just have to get the new one on her, and get her dressed again."

"Oh, is that all?" Mitch says, bracing himself.

"You can do it," Dylan says encouragingly.

"Best hands in hockey," Chris agrees, but he comes over to sit with Dylan, out of the firing line.

"How was work?" Dylan asks.

Chris snorts. "Looks like you put in a lot more work than I did. I spent half the day checking my phone."

"Probably the same half I spent on the good drugs," Dylan says.

"You got cuter results though."

Dylan beams. "I totally did."

"Yes!" Mitch crows in triumph, picking Aiden back up. "Go me, MVP of diapers."

Chris is on his feet in an instant. "Can I?" he asks, reaching out.

"Yeah, just be careful," Mitch advises. "She's loaded with some serious weapons."

"She's so little," Chris says as Mitch settles her into his arms. He's nothing like Matt was holding her; Dylan remembers how many little Marner cousins there are running around. "Is she bald?"

Mitch beams. "Nah, she got the Strome hair." He tugs off her little hat, running his hand over Aiden's dark fuzz when she whines about being cold.

"Oh my god, there's so much of it," Chris says, laughing a little. He adjusts his hold so he can reach over and touch it. "She's beautiful, you guys."

Dylan might be biased but he can't help agreeing: his little family is adorable.

-0-

Ryan's flight lands just before eight the morning after Aiden is born; Chris, who is an absolute hero, offers to pick Ryan up and drop him at the hospital on his way to work, which isn't actually on his way at all. Dylan's pretty sure he looks like shit, which is _awesome_ because Ryan's going to want a bunch of pictures. Aiden was up every two hours overnight, though, so Dylan and Mitch were, too.

"It's a good thing you're cute," Dylan grumbles, kissing Aiden on the nose.

"The cutest," Mitch adds. He's smiling at them both. "Especially when she's sleeping, though."

"Where's my girl?" Ryan demands as he walks in.

"She's full and she's sleepy," Dylan says, brushing Aiden's hair out of her face. "Happy to see you, though."

Ryan smiles so wide he's practically glowing. "She looks just like you."

"She does," Mitch agrees. He's beaming.

Aiden stirs, and pokes her tongue out as far as she can. "That's all you, babe," Dylan says.

"Can I hold her?" Ryan asks, all but bouncing on his feet.

"Hmm, I don't know," Dylan teases. "I'm kind of attached."

"Way less literally than you were yesterday," Ryan says. "C'mon, Dyls."

Dylan raises an eyebrow at Mitch. "Help me out?" He can barely sit up, and he still has an IV, so handing Aiden over to people is Mitch's job.

Mitch handles the transfer like a pro already, scooping her up gently and carrying her over to Ryan. "Do you need to be sitting?" he asks before handing her over.

"Nah, I'm a pro. Didn't drop Dylan or Matt once," Ryan replies. "Boych even let me babysit the twins one time."

"Two at once?" Dylan says, shuddering. "Yikes. Give him the baby."

Ryan holds her easily, like he was born for it, and cuddles her to his chest.

"Wow," he says, smiling down at here. "Wow, you guys." He walks her around the room a little, bouncing her. She makes a bunch of little snuffling noises and a really cute sigh.

"I know," Ryan says to her. "It's really bright out here."

"Take pictures," Dylan says, nudging Mitch. "Lots of them."

Ryan's so busy communing with Aiden he doesn't even notice when Mitch picks up the camera. He snaps photo after photo as Ryan walks and talks.

"Look at you, your hair's a mess like your papa," Ryan says, leaning down to nuzzle Aiden's head.

"Dr. Hewitt said it'll probably all fall out," Dylan says.

Ryan snorts. "Yours didn't. By the time Matt was born you had curls everywhere."

"She might just keep it?" Mitch says, clearly delighted. "Cutest baby in the world."

"Matt did his best to pull Dylan's hair out, so they had to cut it short. Mom cried," Ryan adds.

"Well, she's not getting younger siblings anytime soon," Dylan says. "Hopefully by that point it'll be long enough to, like, braid or something."

"She's not allowed to grow up," Mitch protests.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Hate to break it to you, bud."

Mitch scowls. "Just for that I'm not sending you _any_ photos."

"You won't be able to resist putting them on Instagram," Ryan counters. "And god help you if you try to stop my mom."

"If you guys are going to fight I'm confiscating baby cuddles," Dylan says, making grabby hands.

Aiden makes more of those little sniffling noises, and her arm pops out of the blanket cocoon and whacks Ryan in the chest.

Ryan grimaces. "Sorry, kiddo." He bounces her a little, and heads over to Dylan.

"There we go," Dylan says when Ryan puts her back onto his chest. He curls one hand around her butt and rubs little circles on her back with the other. Aiden makes a grunting noise into his neck, and a familiar smell fills the room. "Uh. Mitch?"

"Hey, Uncle Ryan," Mitch says cheerily. "Want to do a really fun baby thing?"

"No thanks, Aiden." Ryan backs away, hands raised. "I saw enough of that when your papa was your size."

"If you keep telling her about things I did when I was little, I will make sure she knows all about Uncle Ryan and that time with the dog treats," Dylan says sweetly.

"It's not my fault Matty thought they were Halloween candy," Ryan protests.

"You definitely ate one to make him stop crying," Dylan replies. "That was all you."

Ryan shrugs. "Oh, you'll learn. You'll do anything to make a kid stop crying."

"I vote no animals until she's old enough to not eat their food," Mitch says, picking Aiden up and taking her to the changing table. He's already better at the diaper thing than he was yesterday.

"Matt turned out fine," Dylan points out. "The treats were pretty much doggie versions of Reese's Pieces."

Ryan snorts. "Maybe that's why he turned out so tall."

"You know, if that's the price, I'll stick with being my height," Mitch remarks, unsnapping the buttons on Aiden's onesie.

"Uh. Is it supposed to be black?" Ryan asks, craning his neck so he can see what Mitch is doing despite his earlier protests.

"She's pooping out all the stuff she was getting while she was still inside," Mitch says, like he wasn't super horrified the first time he'd seen it.

"Um, actually, I was hoping you could do me a favour, Ry." Dylan picks at the hem of his shirt. He's only been a parent for twenty-four hours, and already he's had to rely heavily on pretty much everyone. Somehow he hadn't factored in how little he'd be able to do for himself after surgery.

Ryan focuses on him instantly. "What's up?"

"Mitch has morning skate tomorrow, and I can't really do anything." Dylan's been trying to talk Mitch into going home tonight, trying to get a decent sleep before his next game.

"I'll be here," Ryan says instantly. "Where else would I be?"

Dylan gives him a wobbly smile. He didn't want to assume, but he's just so _tired_. And the painkillers only do so much; they can't magically make him comfortable.

"Hey, hey," Ryan says, leaning over and giving him a hug. "Whatever you need, Dylan. My flight out isn't until seven tomorrow night, so I'll be able to stay until someone else can get here. Okay?"

"Okay," Dylan echoes, hugging him back.

"Chris will head over right after work," Mitch says, coming back to Dylan's bedside with Aiden wriggling around in his arms. "And I know my parents didn't get enough of her last night, so they'll be back, and I know your folks will be here, too."

Dylan just nods. He _knows_ he's far from alone in this, but it's really nice to be reminded.

"And by the time you're ready to go home, Mitch will be back," Ryan adds. "We've got you. You're gonna be okay."

"Better than okay," Mitch says, placing Aiden on Dylan's chest.

"Yeah," Dylan says, cuddling her close. "Yeah, we're gonna be fine."

-0-

It's a battle to get Mitch out of the hospital, but between Ryan and Chris (and a notable assist from Mitch's parents) they manage. He texts a photo of Aiden's nursery as soon as he gets home. _we get to bring her here soon!!_

Dylan texts him back a picture of Aiden drooling on his collar.

_brb making that my lock screen,_ Mitch replies.

"What are you making gooey face at?" Ryan asks, peering over Dylan's shoulder.

"We get to bring her home," Dylan says, scrolling up to show Ryan the photo of the nursery. "It's really _her room_ now."

Ryan smiles goofily. "Cute. I just hope all the bears don't give her nightmares."

"They're adorable," Dylan says. "And we put tree decals on the walls in her room, so it's like they have a little forest to live in."

"Okay, stop, I'm going to end up with cavities."

Dylan smiles sweetly. "We could talk about how your new place is going instead."

If anything, Ryan's smile gets bigger. "Look, okay, her nursery there is gonna be awesome."

Dylan demands to know more, and they spend some quality time going over suggestions Ryan's decorator sent through. They rule a few things out, but there's still a lot to decide on, so they bring it up again the next day when the Marners arrive. 

Ryan hands Aiden over, and takes off to grab a shower because sometime in the night she'd decided he was a living spit up cloth. Dylan's got a lot of photographic proof. He's still deciding whether or not to send them to JT. In the end, he picks a more flattering photo—JT hasn't seen a good one of her today, after all, and there are plenty of cute ones to show off. She's two whole days old now, and that's a lot of life.

JT sends back three smiley faces. He's pretty much the best captain in the world, not that Dylan's biased or anything.

Speaking of captains, Dylan checks the group chat and sure enough, Connor's demanding more photos. He has an off day, apparently, and he wants to fill his time with maximum cute. Dylan has no issues at all sending the ones of Ryan covered in baby puke to Connor along with a nice selection of other cute ones. He can't wait until he puts her in an Oilers onesie, but he's saving that for when he can successfully FaceTime Connor.

Last night she was a baby Isle for Ryan; tonight she's going to be a baby Leaf to watch her dad beat the pants off the Red Wings. Right now she's a baby in a white onesie, because if there's one thing that Dylan has learned it's that she goes through them pretty fast, so there's no use in putting her in her Leafs one yet.

They day drifts by in something approaching a normal routine. Dylan feeds Aiden a million times, Mitch texts a million times to check in on them, and a parade of Marners comes by to hold her and change her and take pictures. Ryan comes back smelling a lot less like rotten milk, and he hangs out until he has to go to the airport. He looks like the absolute last thing he wants to do is leave, but he needs to get to Washington. Dylan threatens to text JT, and Ryan pouts and gives Aiden one last cuddle before he leaves. Dylan sniffles but he manages not to cry. Chris hugs him anyway, and offers to call his mom.

"I'm okay," Dylan mumbles, wiping at his eyes. "This hormone thing calms down eventually, right?"

"Of course," Chris says. "And in the meantime, there's baby cuddles." He arranges Aiden on Dylan's chest.

If the nurses are weirded out by Dylan's revolving door of helpers, they're too professional to show it. Dylan's grateful; he's not completely bed-bound, but it's pretty close. He's glad for the help.

It's almost time for puck drop when they change Aiden's outfit. Mitch won't check his phone until intermission at this point, but Dylan takes a photo and sends it to him anyway. _score one for the cutest baby in canada!!_ Dylan's pretty confident Mitch can pull it off; he already has four assists in four games.

There's a TV in Dylan’s room, so it's easy to watch the game. The nurses warn him not to get too excited, both for his sake and for Aiden's. Dylan points out that Chris is the superfan in the room.

Sportsnet plays a clip of the interview Dylan and Mitch did months ago, and Dylan's almost embarrassed by how happy they look. Almost but not quite, because Aiden turned out cuter than he thought possible. When they go live, it's to the on-ice guy standing with Mitch, who's smiling ear to ear.

"Well, you've had a busy off season," the on-ice guy remarks. "How's it all going?"

Mitch's smile seems to get even wider. "Great. Everything's great. Dylan, my husband, he gave birth to the most gorgeous baby in the entire world on Wednesday."

"That's you," Dylan tells Aiden. He's smiling pretty wide himself, but then a picture of Mitch and Aiden comes up on screen. It takes Dylan's breath away.

"Her name's Aiden Christine," Mitch says, and the photo changes to one of Aiden in her bassinet. "She and Dylan are doing really well. Still in the hospital for a little while, but everything's going great."

"That's good news," the on-ice guy replies. "I hope the whole family's watching tonight."

Mitch laughs. "Me too, but she's got a mind of her own already."

Aiden squeaks indignantly and thwacks Dylan's cheek with her hand, and Chris laughs. Dylan turns to find that he's recording Dylan's reaction on the phone, so naturally Dylan waves Aiden's hand at him. "Two days into parenthood and he's already a cynic," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "What do we say to that, kiddo?"

Aiden blows a giant spit bubble, and then pops it with her tongue.

"That's right," Dylan coos. "You tell him, baby girl." He holds her hand up, and Chris leans into frame to give her a high five. "Tell Daddy to score a goal for you," he adds, and Aiden makes a squawking noise. She's probably hungry and about to start yelling, but the camera doesn't need to know that.

Chris lowers the phone and taps at the screen, probably sending the video to Mitch. Sure enough, as soon as he does, Aiden starts wailing and rubbing her face against Dylan's shirt.

Dylan presses the call button so he can get a nurse to bring a bottle. "Feeding time at the zoo." He's getting better at the bottle thing; Aiden is definitely trying to nurse, which is awkward for everyone involved, but Dylan's gotten faster at poking the bottle into her mouth before she can gum at his nipples through his shirt.

Aiden eats like a hockey player, focused and determined, so Dylan's pretty thoroughly occupied through the first period. There's no score, so it's not like he misses much; they interview one of the Red Wings during the intermission, and then the talking heads manage to turn discussion of the Leafs' offensive zone time into speculation about whether or not Mitch will score tonight. The usual suspects share their doubts about Mitch's size, again, and speculate about how he'll handle himself against the Wings' style of play. Colby Armstrong, at least, is staunchly in Mitch's corner, and Dylan decides that he's the best one on the panel.

The Wings are up by one halfway through the second, and Aiden responds with an urgent need for a new diaper.

"I agree," Mr. Marner says as he handles diaper duty. "It really does stink, kiddo. Don't worry, though; I'm sure your dad will come through."

Sure enough, JVR sets Mitch up for an absolute beauty with under a minute left in the period. Mitch dekes around Tatar like he's standing still and shoots high, getting the puck neatly over Mrazek's shoulder. Dylan cheers and tries to raise his arms, but his IV reminds him why that's a bad idea.

"Yaaaaay!" Mrs. Marner cheers, raising one of Aiden's hands and shaking it a little. "Daddy got a goal!"

"Shh, they'll kick us out," Chris warns, but he's grinning.

Dylan watches as Mitch emerges from the celly hug. The camera follows him as he skates towards the bench for his glove taps, and as he moves, Mitch moves his arms in front of him like he's cradling Aiden in them, then points up at the ceiling.

"Oh my god," Dylan coos. "That's so cheesy."

The commentators are collectively losing their shit over it, though, and the camera is staying on Mitch's smiling face instead of actually focusing on the faceoff or the first three seconds of the next play.

The second period ends in a tie, and Dylan claims Aiden back for cuddles. It's a lot harder to celly himself into accidentally popping a stitch with a baby in his arms. Armstrong is beside himself over Mitch's goal, and the other people on the panel somewhat grudgingly give Mitch his props. Somehow it segues into blustering about the "post-Kessel era" and Dylan can't hold back his eyeroll. He figures his time will be better spent staring at Aiden while they argue about Bozak's effectiveness as a first-line centre.

Both teams come out battling in the third. It's a pretty intense back-and-forth; the Red Wings are tough in their own right, and they've got Babcock issues that means they're extra angry when it comes to the Leafs. Mitch dodges a nasty hit, and Larkin hits the boards hard. Dylan winces a little, but he pretty much just bounces off. It's a quick play, but it's enough time for Mitch; he's already streaking uncovered towards the net, and he goes forehand-backhand-forehand almost too fast before dodging Mrazek's poke check and stuffing the puck in behind him.

Dylan clutches Aiden, grinning from ear to ear. "Daddy's really good at hockey," he confides to her. Aiden's mostly asleep but he's pretty sure she agrees. The Red Wings push back, but Enroth is actually some sort of puck-repellant tonight, because nothing gets close to going in.

Dylan poses Aiden with her arms raised in victory, her Leafs onesie somehow miraculously clean enough for her to be seen in public. Her eyes are even open, which is a rare thing indeed. Chris takes a picture, and Dylan makes it his new Twitter profile picture. He tweets a flurry of heart-eyes smileys and fire emojis when the game ends 2-1, with both of the Leafs' goals scored by Mitch. #somarried doesn't take long to start trending.

It probably gets a huge boost when they grab Mitch for the post-game interview. "You haven't seen it yet, because, well, you've been on the ice," the interviewer chuckles, holding his phone up. The screen splits, and the left side shows Mitch and the interviewer, while the right is—of course—Dylan's tweet, complete with new photo. "Apparently Aiden thinks you did a pretty good job tonight."

"It's always great to have a new fan," Dylan says wryly.

Mitch's face instantly melts into a huge Aiden smile. "That's," he says, leaning in. "Well, I mean, I did score two goals for her, so."

"I'll let you go celebrate," the interviewer says, looking for all the world like he'd ruffle Mitch's hair if it wasn't so sweaty.

"Thanks," Mitch says, smiling at the interviewer and skating towards the tunnel.

It's not even two minutes before Dylan's phone pings. It's just a long string of heart emojis, and Dylan smiles down at it. _you did good daddy_ , Dylan texts back.

_killing me to not be going back to you tonight_ , Mitch replies. _love you both so much._

Dylan gets Chris to take a picture of him kissing Aiden's squishy cheek. _we love you too. kick ass and come home soon._

_always,_ Mitch promises.

Dylan holds the screen up to Aiden's face. "See? He misses you already." It won't be long now until they can all go home together.

-0-

The Leafs drop the second game in the home-and-home against the Red Wings, but when Dylan texts Mitch a sad face, Mitch just replies that he's looking forward to flying back so they can bring Aiden home. Dylan's looking forward to it too; he's thoroughly sick of hospital food. He has to move around pretty slowly still, but he's up and about, so he's more than ready.

"One more sleep 'til Daddy's here," Dylan informs Aiden. She's not impressed. "Okay, well, fine. Papa's excited to see Daddy, and we're gonna take you home for the first time."

Aiden just snorts loudly and tries to kick her feet free of her blanket.

She sleeps as well as she's supposed to, which means that she and Dylan are both up every few hours for a bottle and burp session. It's exhausting, but Dylan's already getting used to it. It doesn't mean he's not cranky when he wakes up to something that's not Aiden-related. Mitch is smiling down at him, though, so Dylan will deal.

"How are you here already?" Dylan asks, blinking at him.

Mitch smiles wider. "It's nine in the morning, babe. We had an early flight, and I came right over."

Dylan wrinkles his nose. "Ew, airplane cooties."

"You love me anyway," Mitch says, messing up Dylan's hair before he stands up. "How's Aiden? Did she miss me?"

"She's excited about getting out of here. Can't you tell?"

Mitch peers into the bassinet. "She's not yelling, so she's probably pretty happy," he says. He's smiling so widely his face has to hurt. "She might get mad when we wake her up to take her home, though."

"She'll survive," Dylan says, stretching a little. "Let's call the nurse and get this show on the road."

The whole discharge process goes really smoothly; they put Dylan in a wheelchair and set Aiden in his arms, and he spends the whole time heading outside narrating their surroundings to her. She's not screaming, which is new and awesome.

The nurse waits with Dylan while Mitch goes to get the car; she supervises them putting Aiden into the car seat, which Dylan's pretty grateful for.

"Okay, we can do this," Mitch says, and holds the door for Dylan.

"Go team us," Dylan says, settling carefully next to Aiden and buckling his seat belt.

It takes twice as long as it should to get home, and for once traffic isn't to blame. Dylan isn't going to complain about what is definitely the most carefully Mitch has ever driven in his life, though.

"Is she okay?" Mitch asks when they're stopped at a red light, twisting around to look over his shoulder.

"She's sleeping," Dylan says, looking into the car seat. Aiden has her mouth open, and her face is pretty scrunched up. "She might also be pooping."

Mitch snorts. "Working on her two-way game."

"Yesterday she managed to cry, spit up, and poop all at once," Dylan says. "That's some next-level game."

Aiden's fussing pretty hard by the time they pull up at the house. When Mitch opens the car door and cold air spills in, she yells in his face.

"Hey, hey," Mitch says, reaching to undo the buckles. "It's okay, we're home. This is home, Aiden."

He picks her up and makes a disgusted face.

"Diaper?" Dylan asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, and she peed all over the car seat." Mitch bounces Aiden in his arms. "Okay, sorry, I have to get you inside first."

"Fun times," Dylan says. He eyes the car seat as Mitch hurries towards the house with Aiden, but realistically he'll probably be better off leaving it for Mitch. As it turns out, C-sections pretty much suck.

Dylan gets out of the car and he's halfway through shuffling to the front door when Mitch comes back. 

"Forgot the diaper bag," he says, frazzled.

"There's diapers in her room," Dylan reminds him. "And wipes, and so much clean clothing that I'm pretty sure we could get away with just throwing things out after she wears them instead of washing them, and we still wouldn't run out of clothes for at least six months."

Mitch blinks at him. "Oh. Right." He turns around and heads back inside.

Dylan feels pretty great that he manages not laugh at Mitch's fail. He makes it inside and is suddenly really, really grateful for Nuge, who had insisted they put a bench thing near the front door for people to sit on when they put their shoes on. Right now, it's Dylan's resting spot.

Mitch crows in triumph and comes back into the room with a much happier baby. Then he sees Dylan and winces. "Forgot my husband."

"Gimme," Dylan says, holding his hands out for Aiden. "I'll hold her, you get the car seat and the diaper bag." Mitch hands her over, and she's still complaining slightly as she presses her face into Dylan's neck. "New places are scary," Dylan informs her, patting her back.

She slobbers all over his neck in agreement.

Mitch comes back in shortly thereafter, car seat in one hand and diaper bag slung over his shoulder. Dylan really needs to send another thank-you note to his Gram and Grandpa; the little ice skate pattern on the diaper bag is super cute.

Aiden snuffles in Dylan's ear, and he can't help smiling. "Wanna give her the tour?" he asks.

"Yes," Mitch says eagerly. He puts his things down in the entryway and carefully picks Aiden up, and she snuggles right into him as Dylan stands. "We'll go slowly, okay, and we can rest whenever you need to."

Dylan kisses him briefly. "Lead the way, Dad."

Mitch smiles widely at him, but instead of walking into the house, he leans into Dylan. He's supporting Aiden with one hand, and he snakes the other around Dylan's waist.

"Soft hands," Dylan teases, but he's happy to rest some of weight on Mitch.

Mitch sways them a little bit, slow side-to-side, before pulling back. Dylan doesn't call him on the way his eyes are shining a little bit as he smiles up at Dylan. "Okay. Let's show Aiden around."

-0-

Dylan makes sure everything's in place before he hits call. Laptop in a good position: check. Bottle in easy reach: check. Hungry baby: definitely, definitely check. The call starts connecting, and Dylan hastily tries to get the bottle into Aiden's mouth. She's hangry, so she fights it a little.

He finally manages to get it into her mouth just as Connor's face appears on the screen. Dylan grins at him, but before he can say anything, Connor honest-to-god squeaks. "Look at her!"

Aiden grunts and stops drinking for a minute. "I think she knows your voice," Dylan says.

"Hi, Aiden," Connor says, grinning all over the place. "I'm Uncle Connor. Is your papa right? Do you know who I am already?"

Aiden tries to turn her head towards him, milk spilling on her cheek.

"If you keep spitting the bottle out, you don't get to be mad when you're hungry," Dylan tells her. On cue, she starts whining.

"You sound like a dad already," Connor says softly.

"Five days and counting," Dylan says, wrestling to get the bottle stuck back into her mouth. He grins when she finally turns and starts eating. "I'm getting the hang of it. I think."

Aiden spent her first night at home trying her hardest to drive them crazy, but that's nothing new. At least Dylan got to be in his own bed, and when she woke up screaming, Mitch was happy enough to be the one to get up and take care of whatever she needed.

"She has _so_ much hair," Connor says, chin on his hands.

Dylan grins. "It's so fluffy. She'll probably lose all of it, but it's cute for now."

Connor sighs. "I can't believe I have to wait so long to really meet her."

"Well, you can't sneak away, _Captain_ ," Dylan teases. "By the way, congratulations again. You super deserve it and I'm really happy for you."

Connor ducks his head and smiles. "Thanks, but it's not like it was the most important thing that happened that day."

Dylan looks down at Aiden and can't help but smile. "I think she'll share her birthday with Uncle Connor, just this once."

"That's really nice of her," Connor says. "How does she like her room?"

Dylan snorts. "It's too bright, too dark, too warm, and too cold. Otherwise it's perfect."

"She's got a lot of opinions?" Connor asks, eyes going wide. "Wow. With you guys as parents, that's really shocking."

Aiden stops halfway through her bottle, squirming and making a cranky, grunting noise. Either she's done eating, which is incredibly unlikely, or she needs to burp. Either way, she has firm opinions about Dylan's failure to read her mind.

"Hey, hey," he murmurs, looking around. He suddenly realises what he forgot: a burping cloth. He looks at Aiden, who's making fish lips like she's gearing up for a huge cry, and sighs, lifting her to his shoulder. "Okay, fine, spit up on yet another one of Papa's shirts. It's fine, we haven't done a second load of laundry yet today."

Connor's entranced. Even when Aiden belches like a trucker, Connor looks like she hung the moon. To be fair, she is pretty awesome, even if she does get gross sour milk all down Dylan's back.

"She's perfect," Connor says admiringly when Dylan settles Aiden back into his arms and shoves the bottle back into her mouth.

They talk for a while; Aiden goes from eating to sleepy to sacked out eventually. Nuge appears on screen at one point to congratulate Dylan and coo over Aiden's little spit bubbles, then leaves again. Dylan's just winding things up with Connor when there's a commotion from the entryway. "I think the McLeod invasion is about to begin," he says as he hears Mitch open the door. "Good luck this season if I don't talk to you before then, okay? Just not against the Isles."

"Good luck with Aiden," Connor replies. "She's a handful but she's pretty great."

Dylan very gently lifts one of Aiden's hands and waves it at the camera. No use waking the sleeping monster until it's necessary. "Bye, Uncle Connor!"

"Bye, Aiden." Connor's starry-eyed when he signs off.

Aiden snuffles, and Dylan looks at her solemnly. "Ready to meet more uncles?"

She sleeps through a puppy pile of hockey players tumbling through the door.

"Hi," Mikey whispers. "Marns told us to be quiet." Behind him, Little Ryan nods emphatically, while Nate Bastian just looks like he's not sure how he ended up here.

"She's out," Dylan replies. "Milk drunk. She wouldn't even wake up for a goal horn right now."

"How is she so little?" Ryan asks at normal volume, looking at her. "You were gigantic, man."

Dylan raises his eyebrows. "Do you want me to tell you, in detail, about the size of the placenta and all the fluids that were in there with her?"

"Please don't," Mikey says quickly. He waits a beat, then adds, "I thought babies were bald. Maybe that's part of it too."

Mitch slings an arm around him. "Tell me more about what you know about babies, Michael. It's fascinating."

"Yeah," Little Ryan chimes in. "You planning on using the maternity clown pants?"

" _No_ ," Mikey and Nate say at the same time.

Dylan stifles his laugh, but barely. "Have any of you held a baby before?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "And no, Mikey, holding Ryan when he was a baby doesn't count, since you were also a baby."

To his surprise, Nate nods. "Cousins," he offers when Dylan just looks at him.

"Okay, good enough," Dylan says. "Come hold my kid. She puked on me and I need to change my shirt before the smell makes _me_ want to puke."

It's worth it for the way Mikey's jaw almost hits the floor when Nate plucks Aiden out of Dylan's arms and cradles her easily. "Hi, baby," he says softly, booping her nose.

Mitch ruffles Mikey's hair. "I think we've just found our new favourite babysitter. When do you want to move in, Nate?"

"I, uh," Nate says, looking up. "I wouldn't mind? As long as there's not something hockey I'm supposed to be doing."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "Mitch, go get me a shirt. Mikey, put your eyes back in your head."

Mitch snickers as he leaves, and Mikey glares briefly at Dylan before Nate turns to look at him. "It's just a baby," he says, grinning. "A really cute one, but like. Chill, dude."

Ryan starts snickering.

"You wanna hold her?" Nate offers. Mikey's eyes somehow go even wider. "C'mon, I'll show you how. It's not hard."

Mikey's face is frozen in terror, but he steps forward anyway. Apparently he's powerless to refuse Nate.

Nate deftly arranges Aiden in Mikey's arms, then steps back. "See? Not hard at all." He steps back and winks at Dylan, and Dylan has to bite his cheek to keep from cracking up. Mikey's dating such a troll and he apparently doesn't even know it.

"Picture time!" Ryan says brightly.

Before Mikey can protest, Nate puts an arm around his shoulders and smiles. "Awesome. Text it to me so I can put it on Twitter."

Mikey's "oh god I'm holding a baby someone fix this immediately" smile is worse than Dylan's media smile. It's maybe the best thing Dylan has ever seen; he's so glad it's being immortalised and put on social media.

"What did I miss?" Mitch murmurs as he appears at Dylan's side with a clean shirt, just as Nate takes Aiden back from Mikey and starts threatening Ryan with holding her.

"Just sit back and watch," Dylan says, peeling his old shirt off and tugging the new one on. "It's quite a show."


	30. Chapter 30

Mitch's first game of the regular season is on the road, so Dylan and Aiden give him a goodbye and good luck hug and settle in for their first day at home alone together. "Okay," Dylan says to Aiden. "You have big plans for the day?"

She gnaws on his shirt collar.

Dylan snorts. "You're right, laundry's probably a good idea. But just so you know: washing stuff with your mouth isn't super effective." Aiden squeaks, and Dylan feels drool going down his chest. "Awesome." Parenthood: a crash course in slime.

He's getting better at the whole walking around thing; it's not that it doesn't get uncomfortable, but it's been a week since Aiden was born, and he's healing pretty well. Dylan stops and thinks about it for a minute, counting days. "Happy one-week-iversary," he says, kissing Aiden on the cheek. She doesn't smack him in the face with a flailing limb, so he considers it a complete success.

"You get to see the doctor when Dad comes back," Dylan informs her. "Your turn to be poked and prodded, congrats." He's pretty sure she's falling asleep, which is awesome; if she's down for a little while, he can probably manage a badly-needed shower. He keeps talking, because it seems to help. She's used to the sound of his voice after being stuck with him for nine months.

"Okay," he says, standing carefully from where they'd been lounging on the sofa. "If you go to sleep now and let Papa get clean, then I'll make you a nice, warm bottle when you get up, and we'll take some pictures of you for Daddy. How's that sound?"

Aiden yawns widely, which is as good as agreement.

"Awesome," Dylan says, swaying her a little. "I don't think I should sing to you. I don't think that'll help. How about I tell you about, like, Corsi? Papa likes statistics."

Dylan talks all things hockey until Aiden starts snuffle-snoring against his neck. He walks up to the nursery, and she doesn't fuss when he pulls her carefully away from his chest. "And that's why more people use Corsi than Fenwick, even though they're both pretty cool," he says quietly. "Have a good nap, sweetheart." He sets her down and backs away carefully, punching the air silently when she doesn't wake up.

It's definitely time for a shower. He might be more excited than a shower is really worth, but _shower_.

There's a text from his mom waiting oh his phone when he checks it afterwards. _hi honey. how's my favourite grandbaby doing today?_

Dylan sneaks into the nursery and takes a picture of Aiden sleeping. _this won't last long._

_but so cute!!!_ Mom texts back. _I'm at the store. need anything? still have enough diapers and formula?_

_wipes. always wipes_ Dylan replies.

_truer words were never spoken_ , comes back immediately. It's soon followed by _how about grown-up food?_

_yes please._ Dylan has a lot of feelings about people who bring him food right now.

_be there in half an hour,_ Mom promises.

Aiden wakes up starving and loudly informs Dylan how unhappy she is. "I know, I know," he says, picking her up and cradling her. "I'm working on it, and Grandma's on her way. Aren't you excited?"

Aiden scrunches up her face and yells.

"She's bringing wipes," Dylan croons. "You don't like being dirty. You love wipes."

Aiden head butts his shoulder and tries to bite through his collar bone. It's a good thing she doesn't have any teeth. Dylan's just really glad that being G+ doesn't come with lactating. He can't imagine what people go through with nursing. She would absolutely try to bite his nipples, and he shudders at the thought.

Dylan bounces her with one arm while he tries to get her bottle ready. He's kicking himself that he didn't get it ready before she woke up. She's wailing in his ear, which isn't helping his concentration, but he's doing his best. It's definitely why he doesn't notice Mom has arrived until she appears in the kitchen, grocery bags in hand. "Aw, sounds like we're having fun," she says, putting the bags down and coming over. "I can take her, or I can make the bottle. Papa's choice."

Dylan gives her a wobbly smile and moves out of the way, rubbing Aiden's back.

"You'll get the hang of it," Mom promises, squeezing his elbow as she walks by. "I know it's overwhelming, but it gets easier."

Dylan sighs. "She gets really loud when she's hungry."

"So do you," Mom says, amused. "Just wait until she gets old enough to ask for pizza all the time."

Dylan grins. "Matty finally has some competition."

"I'm pretty sure they're just going to egg each other on," Mom says, sighing, but she's grinning back at him.

When the bottle's ready Dylan hands Aiden over. He's not entirely sure this is going to work, but surely his mom's dealt with hangry before. Sure enough, she tucks Aiden into her arm almost effortlessly, and manages to stick the bottle in her mouth with minimal fuss. "I got sandwiches," she says, nodding at the grocery bags. "I get a turkey and provolone, but you can have any of the rest of them. Or all of them, if you're that hungry."

"Food," Dylan says happily. He more or less dives head first into the bags. It looks like Mom got two of everything; there's an entire bag that's just full of sandwiches. Dylan is thrilled. He gets to sit down and eat, with both hands free.

"Save me one," Mom reminds him, laughing a little. "But enjoy."

"I promise." Dylan pours himself a glass of water; he wants to enjoy the full lunch experience. He makes a point out of setting Mom's sandwich on the counter, far away from where he's eating, and then he dives in.

Aiden makes her usual grunting noise as she destroys her bottle, and Mom cracks up laughing. "She's so adorable, but wow," she says, laughing.

Dylan gestures with his sandwich. "Food is her best friend."

"I'd say she gets that from you, but honestly, it's even odds," Mom says, shaking her head. "Hockey appetite already, huh?"

"Well, I wouldn't count on her being a figure skater," Dylan replies. "She belches like a trucker."

"She could be a weightlifter," Mom muses. "She's got the shoulders for it."

Dylan snorts. "Good thing she came out of the escape hatch." He can't imagine what it's like to deliver naturally, especially with a baby of Aiden's build. Everyone keeps telling him how tiny she is, and it's true compared to, like, Dylan himself. She's big for a newborn, though. Aiden has her first appointment soon, so they'll find out just how big she is.

"I never took the escape hatch option, but I'm pretty sure both ways have their pros and cons," Mom says, pulling the now-empty bottle away from Aiden, who will definitely keep sucking and swallowing air until she's a miserable burp monster if given the chance.

Aiden squeaks in protest, and Dylan makes grabby hands. He's ready to have her back now; if he could, he'd keep her close forever. "I'll burp her," he says, wiggling his fingers. "You can eat your sandwich."

Mom kisses Aiden on the forehead before handing her back. "She's beautiful. And you're good with her."

"I'm trying," Dylan says. He smiles down at her, and she blinks sleepily back up at him. They're a team, and that means pushing through together even when it's hard. But it also means taking the time to enjoy a win.

Aiden gurgles a little, then lets out one of her loudest burps yet, without him rubbing her back at all.

"Look at you, getting the hang of life on the outside!" Dylan gives her a low five.

"Yeah," Mom says, looking at them fondly. "You're doing great, Dylan."

-0-

Dr. Hewitt had given them a list of recommended pediatricians in the area, and one name had immediately jumped off the list. "My wife," Dr. Hewitt had explained, smiling. "We're a two-woman baby team."

So now they're in another waiting room, early in the morning after Mitch got home from Detroit. Aiden is sleeping, which is pretty much the best they could hope for. Dylan's pretty well rested too, for once. Mitch was too wired to sleep when he got off the plane, so he took the 2am feeding. All in all, he's in a pretty great mood.

"Hi, doc," he says cheerfully when they get back to Dr. Hewitt's office. "Good to meet you."

"Mr. Strome, Mr. Marner," she says warmly, reaching out to shake hands. "Marcia told me you were patients of hers. It's nice to meet you and your little lady." 

Aiden whines when Mitch picks her up, not exactly thrilled her nap is over. "She's gonna yell," he warns. "She doesn't like being cold."

"I have yet to meet any baby who likes that," Dr. Hewitt says, amused.

Mitch shrugs and pulls Aiden's sweater off, and once the air hits her arms, she starts the pre-crying huffy breath thing. "I know, I'm sorry," Mitch says as he unbuttons her onesie.

Sure enough, she starts screeching, flailing her little arms like it's going to keep Mitch from getting her last line of defence against the cold. Dylan grimaces. Crying is awful, and he just wants to pick her up. He's going to be a mess when she has shots.

"It's okay, Aiden," Dr. Hewitt says as Mitch lays her on the exam table. "I'm just going to to check you out, and then your dads can get you dressed again. Sound fair?"

Aiden flails her arms and tries to make the exam as annoying as possible, because she's Mitch's daughter. That's how Marners roll. Dr. Hewitt rolls with it, though, talking to Aiden the whole time like she's understanding it. Aiden's weighed and measured and poked and prodded, and she complains the whole way through. Then the diaper has to come off for one final check, and things get hilarious. Dr. Hewitt is clearly an experienced parent, because she ducks out of the way when Aiden lets loose a stream of pee. Mitch is caught by surprise.

"Aw, come on," Mitch complains, jerking out of the way. It's too late, though; there's a wet spot on his shirt.

Dylan bites his lip and surreptitiously takes a photo of Mitch's outraged face.

"I saw that," Mitch says, but he's too busy grabbing paper towels from next to the sink to glare effectively.

"It's nice to know who her favourite is," Dylan says sweetly.

"Next time you get to take her clothes off," Mitch grumbles, dabbing at his shirt. "What are the chances we've got an extra shirt in the car?"

Dylan shakes his head and reaches into the diaper bag, pulling out a Mitch-sized Leafs shirsey. "Some of us haven't forgotten how to Google 'what to bring to baby's first appointment.'"

"This is why you're my favourite," Mitch says, grabbing the shirt and quickly changing. "Would definitely husband again."

"He loves me for my Google-fu," Dylan says to Dr. Hewitt.

"It's a useful skill to have," Dr. Hewitt replies as she finishes checking Aiden.

"How's she look?" Mitch asks, leaning in.

Dr. Hewitt smiles. "Perfect. She's doing a good job of gaining weight, and she has a healthy set of lungs. You can dress her now."

"Oh good, her favourite part," Dylan says, smiling as Mitch starts dressing her again. "The warm part."

Aiden keeps yelling all the way through, trying her best to kick Mitch when he puts her socks back on. He manages it pretty well, though. Dylan's impressed. Then Mitch scoops her up and wraps her in a blanket, and Dylan's heart hurts.

"It's okay, it's okay, Daddy's got you," he singsongs, cuddling her close and rubbing her back. "You're all warm now! Everything's good, baby girl."

Like magic, Aiden settles down to a low whine. Mitch bounces her and kisses her fuzzy head.

"Happy baby," Dr. Hewitt says, smiling. "All is forgiven now that she's warm again."

"Happiest when she's eating," Dylan replies. "Sometimes I think she'd eat the entire bottle, and my hand along with it."

Dr. Hewitt laughs. "Well, she's a big girl," she says. "She's in the 95th percentile for height, and her weight will probably catch up. It's not a bad thing at all that she's eating so much; sometimes babies don't like to, and that can be tough."

Dylan nods. "But we have to be careful with formula, right? In the hospital the nurse said something about overfeeding."

"True, but that's more of an issue if you don't have her on a regular schedule, or you're not keeping track," Dr. Hewitt says. "It sounds like you're doing just fine, and trust me, she'll let you know if she's not hungry."

"She's pretty vocal with her opinions, yeah," Mitch says. He hands Aiden over to Dylan, and she burrows as close as humanly possible.

Dylan brushes a kiss to her hair and snuggles right back. "Of course you're perfect," he murmurs, for Aiden's ears only. She yawns hugely and catches his shirt in her mouth when she tries to close her mouth.

Yeah. Absolutely perfect.

-0-

By some miracle of timing, Aiden is peacefully asleep in her crib when Mitch calls from the hotel in Minnesota. Mitch makes the appropriate gooey-faces at her; Dylan almost feels like leaving the room so he doesn't get in the way. After a few minutes, though, Mitch sighs. "Okay, I could sit here and watch her all night," he whispers, "but I wanna see you, too."

Dylan beams. "Nice of you to remember me," he teases.

"Someone was holding the camera," Mitch says. "Also, like I could forget you when I'm looking at her."

"Guess that's why you put a ring on it." Dylan can't lie: Mitch's cheesy lines really work for him right now. He's choosing to blame it on hormones and sleep deprivation.

"I was always gonna," Mitch reminds him softly. "Hey, can you go to our room? I don't want to wake her up, but I do want to know how your surgery follow-up appointment went today."

"Okay." Dylan kisses his fingertips and places them carefully on Aiden' head. "Goodnight from Dad."

"Sleep well, sweetie," Mitch adds. "And sleep long. Get better at sleep."

Dylan laughs quietly as he leaves the nursery. "She will, when her stomach's bigger. Dr. Hewitt said it's about the size of an apricot right now."

"Can't she stay this little but also sleep?" Mitch says, pouting. "Best of both worlds. Evolution should get on that."

"Babe, if she stays this little she won't be able to skate," Dylan points out.

Mitch's whole face lights up. "Hey, wait, that reminds me," he says excitedly. "Remember the little skate booties? We have to find those and put them on her before she gets too big."

"Babe, you're a genius!" Dylan makes a note on his phone to look for them tomorrow.

"I mean, obviously," Mitch says, grinning at him. "Oh my god, I can't wait."

"Do you want pictures?" Dylan asks. "Or should I wait until you get home?"

"Wait?" Mitch asks. "I mean, if you absolutely have to put them on her, then pictures. But, uh." He blushes a little over the Skype screen, which means he's probably bright red in person. "I kind of want to be there to help her put on her first skates."

He's so damn cute Dylan wants to reach through the screen and smoosh his cheeks. "I can wait," he promises.

They talk for a while about the long four days they've been apart. Dylan tells stories about Aiden that only a dad would want to hear, and Mitch tells locker room stories only a hockey player would want to hear. It's pretty much perfect, honestly. Dylan's the luckiest.

"Hey, so," Mitch says after winding down a story about JVR's latest rookie prank. "How'd the appointment go? Everything healing up okay?"

"Yeah, it's looking good." Dylan makes a face. "Insurance won't cover me for another month, though, so I still can't drive."

"Terrible," Mitch says sympathetically. "Sorry I'm not there to be your chauffeur. I hope Chris was an acceptable substitute."

"You're cuter," Dylan replies, waggling his eyebrows.

Mitch grins. "I'm pretty sure you're not healed enough for _that_."

"Ugh, fine, distract me then," Dylan demands. "Tell me all the gossip. Everyone thinks I'm too busy, so I'm out of the loop."

Mitch leans closer to the camera. "Have you heard Hanny's latest drama?"

Dylan leans in close too. "Did he accidentally send a dick pic to Eichs instead of Coyle?"

"Oh my god, no, but I wish that was it," Mitch says, laughing. "No, apparently he and Coyle had some sort of, like, massive 'I love you, man' moment right before they left for their camps, and then Coyle stopped answering when Hanny called."

"No way! Really?" Dylan can't even imagine it; those two seemed pretty cosy at the party.

"No explanation, nothing," Mitch confirms. "I was gonna have a talk with him while I was here, but he's apparently on IR, some kind of lower-body thing. They're being pretty tight-lipped, but you know how that goes."

"Wow. I bet Eichs is out for blood." Dylan kinda wishes he had popcorn.

"He super is," Mitch says. "You know how Eichs is anyway, and the fact that it's Hanny..."

Dylan snorts. "Come on, none of us are great at Sad Hanny. Remember when his little sister sprained her ankle at the beach on draft weekend?"

"Nobody is good at any Sad Hannys," Mitch says solemnly. "At least it was spread around then, though. Apparently he's been just sadly texting Eichs about how he doesn't know what he did wrong, and he just wants to know, but if Coyle wants his space then he loves him enough to give it to him..."

Dylan starts tearing up. Fucking _hormones_. "We need to send Hanny a fruit basket or something."

"Hey, hey," Mitch says, sounding concerned. "We can do that. You okay?"

"Hanny's a good guy. He deserves better." Dylan's voice wobbles, which is just embarrassing.

"He does," Mitch says, voice soothing. "Eichs will get to the bottom of it, okay? He's good like that."

Dylan just nods. He's not sure what he'd do if Mitch was halfway across the country and refusing to talk to him. It wouldn't be pretty, that's for sure.

"I love you," Mitch says quietly. "So much."

"I know. I love you too," Dylan replies.

"I wish I could give you a hug right now," Mitch says. His voice sounds a little wobbly, too. "We're on the red-eye back to Toronto after the game on Saturday, so I'll be there when you wake up Sunday morning."

"Sunday for Aiden's first skates sounds nice." Dylan takes a deep breath and tries to smile. "Tell me more about Auston. Gotta watch out for the quiet ones."

-0-

Dylan wakes up in the middle of the night when the bed dips behind him, but Mitch curls around him and kisses the back of his neck, so Dylan tangles their fingers together and goes back to sleep.

He wakes up slowly in the morning, and something feels weird. He blinks against the light spilling around the edges of the curtain, and—Shit, it's light out. How late is it? What's wrong with Aiden?

"Hey, look, Papa's awake," Mitch says, and Dylan turns over and squints a little. Mitch is leaning against the dresser, Aiden curled up against his chest, and he smiles and waves her hand in his direction.

"You scared the shit out of me," Dylan complains.

"You looked like you could use the sleep," Mitch returns. "I was in the bathroom when she started fussing, so I figured I'd take this one." Aiden looks full and happy. She doesn't need Dylan at all. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, sinking back into the pillows.

"Cuddle time?" Mitch asks, approaching the bed.

"Cuddle time," Dylan agrees, opening his arms up. He breathes easier with Aiden in his arms and Mitch tucked up against his side. Mitch rests his arm gently over Dylan's hips, and his thumb rubs soft circles against Dylan's skin.

"I don't like being here without you, but I guess I got used to it," Dylan confesses.

Mitch presses a kiss to Dylan's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"She's my whole world right now," Dylan says, figuring it out as he talks. "Guess I need to get out more."

"It might not be a bad idea," Mitch says, squeezing Dylan's hip. "Go see Mikey and Little Ryan, maybe. Or make them come here and take you out."

"Show them her skates," Dylan adds, turning a little so he can see Mitch's face.

"Speaking of," Mitch says, looking exactly as excited as Dylan figured he would. "Where are they?"

"With the rest of her clothes, in the nursery." Dylan shakes his head, grinning at Mitch. "It's a good thing you're pretty."

"But I'm _very_ pretty," Mitch says, grinning back. "I'm gonna go get them."

Mitch rolls out of bed, and Dylan snuggles Aiden close. "Your Daddy's pretty great but sometimes I worry about what's under all that hair."

"Don't worry, all of it loves you both," Mitch says as he walks into the hallway.

Aiden wriggles, and her hair tickles Dylan's nose. "I can't believe you turned her against me!"

"She's just happy I scored her all those goals," Mitch calls. Dylan can hear him opening drawers through the baby monitor. "Don't worry, you'll be her favourite again soon enough."

"You don't have to have a favourite," Dylan tells Aiden, who gives a high-pitched little yawn and blinks up at him. "Okay, you're right: I should make an exception for food," he amends.

Mitch appears out of nowhere, brandishing the booties. "I found them," he says, smiling so wide it probably hurts his face.

Dylan gestures to Aiden. "She's not doing her fish impression right now. Go for it."

Mitch captures her foot and pretends to eat it. Aidan's too little to smile, so she mostly looks confused.

"What are you doing to my toes?" Dylan says in a squeaky voice.

"Om nom," Mitch says, kissing the tips of her toes. "Aiden toes are delicious. Daddy monster can't help it."

Aiden squeaks and kicks him in the face. Really, Mitch should've expected it, given how many times she did that while she was still in the sin bin. Mitch just laughs, though, and grabs her foot, slipping the bootie on before she can yank it back.

"Soft hands," Dylan says fondly.

Mitch wiggles his fingers before grabbing Aiden's other foot and wrestling the bootie on.

Aiden arches her back and flails her legs, trying to figure out what the new sensation is. Dylan just laughs. "I think she's finally discovered her feet."

"They're attached," Mitch says, poking at the one nearest him. "Google says she might start chewing on them in a couple of months, so I guess we'll really know she's found them then."

Aiden brings her feet together, and Mitch makes a clanging noise. "Good thing they're not real blades, slugger."

"Take a picture," Dylan says. "I want to see her in her skates."

They end up spreading a white receiving blanket on the floor, and Dylan holds her up so only her skates are touching down. Mitch lays flat out on the floor to get the photo, and it's so precious it takes Dylan's breath away.

"We should change her and take another one," Dylan says, when he can manage words.

"This one's pretty good," Mitch says, smiling at his phone as he types out whatever caption he's thought up.

"It's great," Dylan corrects, "but it's not a preview for Team Canada."

"Oh my god," Mitch says, climbing to his feet. "Your papa's so smart, Aiden baby. This is gonna be great." He scoops Aiden out of Dylan's arms and goes to change her, which leaves Dylan's hands free to double check the dates for Winter Olympics. 2034 is _so_ going to be Aiden's year. She could play hockey or figure skate or be part of the luge team. He doesn't care, as long as she's happy.

Dylan's phone chimes with a new notification. Apparently Mitch tagged him in his Instagram post. He taps on it, and Aiden's adorable face comes up—along with the dorkiest caption possible. _ice ice baby,_ it proclaims, and Dylan groans even as he likes it. "Dad puns," he mutters to himself. He wishes he was more surprised, but he's really not. "Why do I let him near the internet unsupervised?"

_that's my girl,_ , he comments anyway.

Dylan isn't at all surprised when Eichs comments not long after. He's been deprived of toddler hugs since he moved out of the Moulsons'.

_poor kid. no wonder marns wore # from the 90s._

_#16 for when she was born,_ Mitch shoots back before Dylan can reply.

"Hey!" Dylan calls out. "Both hands on the baby! She wriggles."

Mitch comes back to the bedroom, grinning unrepentantly. "Ready to give Uncle Jack an aneurysm?"

She's decked out in her Team Canada onesie and little booties, and Dylan's heart clenches at the sight of her.

"Too bad we don't have moose ears," Dylan says, reaching for her. "This is going to be the best comeback ever."

"Halloween costume of the future," Mitch promises, settling her into Dylan's hold.

Dylan gets Aiden back into position. "Smile for Canada." He's not above using cuteness to win the rivalry.

"Perfect," Mitch says, snapping about a hundred photos. "That's our little Olympian."

"I'm writing the caption this time," Dylan insists.

"Go for it," Mitch says. A moment later, Dylan's phone pings as Mitch sends a few of the photos through.

Dylan picks his two favourites and uploads them as _future draft pick_ and _team canada 2034_. He can almost hear Eichs' howl of protest on the wind.

"My work here is done," he announces.

-0-

Having Mitch home for most of a week is awesome. He's not around for bedtimes when he has a game, but still, him being there means Dylan doesn't have to do every feeding and diaper change, and it means he's got someone to talk to and rely on. And the morning cuddles are pretty great. He gets a lot of super adorable photos, including one that's proof Aiden got Mitch's smile. She's three weeks old, so it might just be gas, but Dylan stands by the cute.

"So," Mitch says towards the end of the week. "A few of the guys from the Knights wanted to stop by after their game on Friday, meet Aiden in person. I told them I'd ask you."

"They're your team," Dylan replies. "Of course they can come over. As long as none of them are sick." Aiden's due for her first round of shots next week, and Dylan's guarding her immune system like Fort Knox until then.

"You're the best," Mitch says, smiling. "I'll tell them they can't come if they're germy."

They have an early dinner before Mitch has to head off for his game, and Dylan reminds him to ask Ekblad for easy cookie recipes. "I need _snacks_."

"I'll have him text you," Mitch promises, leaning in to kiss Aiden's forehead, then Dylan's. "Gonna watch the game?"

Dylan laughs. "I'll try, but Aiden has a mind of her own."

"Isn't that the truth," Mitch says, grabbing her foot and wiggling it a little. He grins when she squeaks. "C'mon, Aiden, watch Daddy play hockey."

Aiden coos at him and blows a spit bubble. "Sure, you're cute now, but just wait," Dylan teases, ruffling her hair.

"Send me pictures," Mitch says, letting go of Aiden and stepping back. "I'll be home late, probably."

Dylan rolls his eyes, because of course Mitch will be home late; it's hockey. "I'll be asleep, with any luck."

Mitch grins. "I'll try not to wake you up."

Dylan kisses him, and then shoos him towards the door. "Go, before I chain you to the crib."

"Fine, I'm going," Mitch says, still smiling as he walks out the door.

The game is kind of a shit show. The Panthers don't have Huberdeau, but the Leafs are still trying to gel as a team after years of bullshit. Dylan's quietly happy he doesn't have the job of Fixing All The Things, not like Connor and Mitch and Jack. Andersen stands on his head, but the Panthers have Luongo. It's a ridiculous game.

Dylan misses the end of the second thanks to a diaper emergency. The intermission talking heads inform him that he didn't miss much, so he settles in to watch the third, Aiden curled up on his chest. He was able to get on top of things better with Mitch around, so there are pre-made bottles ready and waiting if she loses it. She keeps her cool through the first five minutes. She's blinking sleepily at the TV, so Dylan's hoping she takes a little nap, but as soon as Jagr gets the puck she starts wriggling around. The goal horn startles her, and she starts yelling.

"Hey, it's okay," Dylan says, trying not to laugh. He grabs his phone and hits record. "I know it's not cool when Daddy's team gets scored on, but you don't have to—hey!" He pulls the phone away as she starts flailing her fists.

The crying increases to the pitch of angry bear who just woke up from hibernation, and Dylan sets his phone down so he can feed her. The pre-made bottles are excellent, and he hopes he can keep up with making them. He settles her into his lap and holds the bottle with one hand so he can text the video to Mitch. _don't think she's a jagr fan._

For the first time in her tiny life, Aiden turns her head away from the bottle.

"Aw, c'mon," Dylan wheedles, poking her in the cheek. "You love bottles!" 

Aiden shrieks and arches her back.

"Diaper? Bath? Come on, kid, give me a clue." Dylan puts the bottle down and lifts her carefully; sniff test says she doesn't need a diaper change. When he brings her back down Aiden belches in his face, followed by an ominous rumbling.

"Oh, hey, whoa," he yelps, reaching for the burp cloth he's learned to never be without. He gets it into place just in time for her to spit up in it. "Not feeling great, huh?" Dylan cleans her up and rubs her back.

She sniffles and rubs her face against his shirt. The wailing has stopped, but now she's doing the quiet crying thing, and that's just heartbreaking.

"You wanna skip hockey, baby?" Dylan's in favour of them _both_ washing up. She whines and clutches at his shirt, so Dylan turns the game off and lifts her up. "Okay, Papa's got you. How about a nice warm bath? Does that sound nice?"

Dylan carries her upstairs and starts filling the tub, but he leaves her wrapped up warm for now. She's generally a fan of baths, but right now she doesn't seem to be a fan of anything. Dylan can sympathise; she's feeling pukey, and that's never fun. She fusses when he puts her down, but she was fussing anyway and Dylan can't exactly get in the bath with his clothes on. He strips down to his boxers, then picks her up and rubs at her back again. She's sniffling a little and nibbles at his collarbone.

"Hungry? Really?" Dylan says, exasperated. At least she let him know now, before they started the actual bath.

He retrieves her dinner and feeds her, but she doesn't guzzle it down like she normally would. She does manage to keep it down, though, so Dylan will take it. "Ready for your bath now, princess?" Dylan says softly.

She sighs and blinks at him, which is good enough for Dylan.

-0-

Aiden doesn't have the best night of her life, but by the time morning rolls around, she's back to her usual self.

"It's lucky she's cute," Mitch grumbles, bundling her into the car so they can hopefully get her to nap.

"She's adorable and she knows it," Dylan says, tucking another blanket around her.

Aiden squeals happily, like she wasn't up all night right along with them.

"Go to sleep, little bear," Mitch sings off-key. She gives him a brilliant gummy smile, and Dylan can practically feel Mitch melting. To be fair, he's doing pretty much the same.

Aiden warbles to herself all the way across town, and she's still fighting sleep when they get to the drive through at Tim Horton's. Coffee helps her dads feel better, though.

"What if we just drive really slowly around the block?" Dylan says when they approach the driveway and she's still not-quite-sleeping. "We've got enough gas, right? We can just do laps."

Mitch beams. "We can go wherever you want."

"Except to sleep," Dylan says a little pathetically, looking longingly at the house as they pass it.

"Hey, nothing's stopping you from napping," Mitch replies. "I don't mind." He doesn't look half as wrecked as Dylan feels, but then again Mitch gets to nap before games and skip the witching hour. Dylan never thought he'd be wistful for how tired hockey makes him, but parenthood is a whole new level. He settles back in his seat, closes his eyes, and he's out like a light.

He has no idea how long he's out before Mitch shakes his arm gently. "I got her inside and in the crib without incident," he says. "How does bed sound?"

"Oh my god, I love you," Dylan mumbles.

"Me, or bed?" Mitch asks, laughing quietly as he helps Dylan out of the car.

Dylan trudges upstairs and crawls under the covers. He's tempted to make a cooing noise at his pillow. Mitch scoots in behind him, saying something about alarms and later tonight, but Dylan's too tired to pay attention. He'll just ask when he wakes up later.

Before he had a kid, Dylan never imagined that an hour of sleep could make such a difference. It feels better than any pre-game nap he's ever taken, though, and when he wakes up it's almost like he got a full night's sleep.

He gets up and leaves Mitch dozing. One good turn deserves another. A quick peek into Aiden's room reveals that she's still out, too. Dylan does a happy dance and heads downstairs. With the guys coming over later, it's probably a good idea to make sure the living room isn't a complete train wreck.

Nothing actively smells like puke, which is more than Dylan was hoping for, really. There's some straightening to do, he thinks as he surveys the living room, but he can totally handle this.

Half an hour of blissful quiet later, the baby monitor chirps to life and Dylan goes to scoop Aiden out of her crib. "Hi, gorgeous."

She fusses while he changes her diaper, but she settles back down pretty quickly after that. Dylan carries her back into the bedroom, where Mitch is blinking awake. "Good morning, Dad." Dylan holds Aiden out so Mitch can get a wake up kiss.

"Mmmm, baby snuggles," Mitch says, reaching out to grab her from Dylan. "What a good way to wake up."

Dylan sits back and enjoys the moment, his favourite people in the same place. It's ruined a moment later when Mitch makes a face. "I think she needs a change."

"What, seriously?" Dylan complains. "I just changed her!"

Aiden squeaks, like she's not thrilled about it either.

Mitch holds her out. "Here, take her for a second," he says. "Lemme pee and then I'll change her."

Dylan can't help himself; he cracks up laughing. "Daddy needs a change, too."

"I will and so will the bed in a minute," Mitch says, still holding Aiden out. "C'mon, Dyls."

"Come here, soggy girl." Dylan picks up Aiden, making a face at her heavy diaper. She whimpers a little, and he laughs quietly. "Well, it wasn't wet when I put it on you. You don't have to take every clean diaper as a challenge, y'know."

Aiden's lower lip wobbles.

"Your daughter's getting mad about the diaper situation," Dylan calls towards the bathroom. "She's giving me the sad face."

"Oh no, not the sad face!" Mitch comes rushing back into the room.

"The saddest," Dylan confirms, handing her over. "Look at that face, babe."

Mitch blows a raspberry on her neck. "Cheer up, baby."

The tears disappear just like that, and she squawks out a laugh.

"Oh my god, you're a genius!" Mitch declares. "Smartest baby ever!"

"She's a little faker," Dylan adds, delighted. "Oh my god, we have a _prank baby_."

"Just in time to meet my team." Mitch walks out of the room, telling Aiden all about the epic plans they can pull off together.

"Can we teach her to cry on command?" Dylan wonders, following after them. "Like, when we hand her to Juo?"

Mitch grins at him. "You're so mean."

"Juo is the reason I even know Brinksy _has_ a sex life," Dylan points out. "I'm pretty sure they're still planning revenge, somehow."

Mitch changes Aiden, and they squabble over what outfit to put her in. Mitch wins in the end, because it _is_ his team. Besides, putting her in an Otters onesie now means Mitch would get the Knights onesie when the Otters visit later in the season, and that's just not acceptable.

Dylan shakes his head and goes to order pizza. Another good thing about Aiden being out of the penalty box: he got his cheese tolerance back. He doesn't want to say he's overindulging, but the number of cheese-related meals he's had since she was born have outnumbered their non-cheese counterparts. Whatever, he's earned it. Running around after a baby is one hell of a workout.

Mitch comes down just as Dylan finishes ordering. He's got Aiden in a Knights onesie, a pair of hideous yellow pants, and a super adorable green-and-gold headband that Dylan thinks might've been a shower gift from Mitch's billets.

"Ready to face the music, traitor baby?" Dylan asks Aiden.

She squeals and flails a little in Mitch's arms. Dylan has no idea if she's protesting being called a traitor or agreeing.

He raises an eyebrow at Mitch. "You're lucky I love you."

"Very lucky," Mitch says, smiling at him.

They're saved from giving Aiden cavities before she even gets teeth by the doorbell ringing. It's too soon for it to be the pizza, which means it's probably a bunch of hockey players.

Dylan takes a deep breath before he answers. It's been a long time since anyone who wasn't family came here, and his palms are kinda sweaty.

"Hello?" he calls through the intercom.

"Hi, Stromer," comes Juo's voice. "It's just me and Cliff. We made everyone else stay back so they didn't scare Aiden."

Dylan laughs. "Good choice, some of 'em are damn ugly." He buzzes them through and unlocks the front door.

It takes a couple minutes for them to drive up and park, but it's not long before there's a knock at the door. Dylan answers it and is met with Cliff Pu's entire smiling existence. "Just the cute Knights, I promise!"

"Oh good," Dylan says, stepping back to let them in. "You're not gonna be the cutest one in the room, though. Hate to break it to you."

Somehow, even though it shouldn't be possible, Cliff manages to smile wider when he sees Aiden decked out in her Knights swag. "Oh my god, look at you! You're tiny like your dad."

"She pukes on command," Mitch lies, smiling sweetly. "Wanna chirp me again and risk me saying the magic word?"

While those two are busy making up for lost chirps, Dylan turns his attention to Juo. "Back in the O for another season. That sucks."

"It happens," Juo says, shrugging. "How is Aiden? How's being a dad?"

"She's great," Dylan says, smiling widely as he looks across the room at Mitch and Aiden. She's wearing one of the ugliest outfits they own, and it sounds like Mitch is threatening to make her puke on Cliff again. "It's a lot, you know? But it's good."

Juo smiles. "Tell me all about her."


	31. Chapter 31

The timing of Aiden's first Halloween works really well schedule-wise; Mitch is playing against Ryan the night before, but he'll be home for the day itself, and the Oilers are in town the day after, so Connor and Nuge can make it, too. Even Matty's coming after his afternoon game. Dylan's ridiculously excited. It's the first real family gathering since Aiden's been born. He can't wait for everyone to see how big she's gotten, and also her awesome Halloween costume.

Mitch's flight leaves Brooklyn around ten, and he texts Dylan about a hundred exclamation points with no explanation right before his plane takes off. Dylan's busy with Aiden, and with rescuing the house from disaster, so he doesn't reply. Mitch will be home in a few hours, and he can be super excited about Aiden and her amazing costume then.

She goes down for a nap after lunch, and Dylan takes pictures because she's so adorable when she's asleep. He gets the house mostly clean while she's sleeping; it's good enough to have family over, anyway, and he's got an infant, so that definitely buys him some wiggle room.

Dylan collapses on the sofa and brings up hockey highlights on the TV; he's earned it. He's waiting for Aiden to start making waking-up noises, but she miraculously stays quiet, so he gets to see JT score a gorgeous goal. He grins; that's his _captain_.

It's possible he dozes off for just a minute because the next thing he knows Mitch is shaking him awake. He's smiling softly. "Hey, sleepy. I brought you a surprise."

"Donuts?" Dylan says hopefully.

Mitch snorts and steps back, and that's when Dylan sees Ryan standing near the staircase, holding Aiden. Dylan blinks a couple of times but nope, he's not dreaming.

"Mitch got me on the plane back up here this morning," Ryan says, shrugging and smiling. "It's a whole family thing tonight, right? So we figured out how to get me here."

"Oh my god, you need to come hug me," Dylan says as he gets up. Of the many things that have changed since he had Aiden, one of the ones Dylan misses the most is talking to Ryan every day. Ryan laughs, but he doesn't hesitate to cross the room and give Dylan a hug. Aiden protests a little, but it's not the kind of whining that leads to crying, so Dylan enjoys it for a little bit.

"You're a _sneak_ ," he says to Mitch.

"But the best sneak," Mitch says happily. "Also, we promised JT we'd FaceTime him later, so he could see Aiden in her costume."

"Get your screencaps ready," Ryan adds. "He's going to make the _best_ face."

"There has to be a way to record FaceTime," Dylan says. "We've got time. I'll Google."

"What's left to do before people get here?" Mitch asks.

"There's a list on the fridge," Dylan replies.

"I'll babysit," Ryan says quickly. Dylan rolls his eyes but lets him sit down with Aiden, and between them, he and Mitch get everything done. Aiden fusses after a while, inevitably, and Ryan tries to hand her back.

"I thought you were babysitting," Dylan teases.

"But she wants her Papa," Ryan says, blinking innocently.

Mitch snorts. "She wants a diaper change, Uncle Ryan."

"Mitch can show you how it's done," Dylan adds, smiling sweetly.

"Hell yeah, I'll talk you through the whole thing," Mitch says, heading for Aiden's room. "Is it smelly? Man, my first one was full of black goo."

Ryan shudders. "Yeah, I remember the black goo. I wish I could forget."

Dylan lets them go and checks the list one last time. Everything is finished, so he settles onto the sofa and relaxes.

The Marners arrive a little while later, and they coo over Aiden as expected. Mitch's mom brings real food, too, which is awesome. Chris looks like he can't decide whether he wants to steal Aiden and keep her forever, or just take a million photos. Ryan promises Chris he can take the next diaper change. The face he makes is hilarious, mostly because it's a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to not make a face at all.

Dylan's parents arrive with Matty, and with more food. He's not sure which is better. Matty brings a little party hat for Aiden, so he wins at making an entrance, but _food_.

"Hey!" Matt says when he spots Ryan. "It's my turn."

He lets them argue over her as he pulls out his phone and checks the time. They're not on a schedule or anything, but they're definitely not putting Aiden into her costume before everyone gets to the house. She'll absolutely spit up all over it. He's just about to text Connor when the door opens, and he walks in holding hands with Nuge.

"Hey!" Dylan says, sticking his phone back into his pocket. "Good to see you guys. I'm glad you could get here early."

Connor hugs him tight. "It's good to be home."

"I'm sure finally getting to see Aiden in person has nothing at all to do with why you made the trip," Dylan teases, pulling back so he can give Nuge a less intense hug.

Connor grins and ruffles Nuge's hair. "This guy thought he could wait until tomorrow to see her."

"Impossible," Dylan says. "Ryan flew here from Brooklyn to see her, and he's _not_ playing here tomorrow."

Nuge blushes and elbows Connor in the rooms. "I thought maybe you'd want some alone time."

"Why wouldn't I want to meet her with you?" Connor asks, sounding honestly confused.

Nuge raises an eyebrow. "You really want to share her?"

"He's about to say something really sappy," Dylan warns. 

Connor ignores him, except for the way he's blushing. "I'd share her with you."

"Okay, costume time!" Dylan says brightly, turning on his heel. They're probably going to kiss, and they don't need an audience.

"We finally get to see what the mysterious costume is?" Chris asks, bringing Aiden over. Dylan has no idea when he ended up with her, but she's pretty happy, all told.

"Yeah, it's party time." Dylan waves Mitch over, and they head upstairs.

He's no help in changing her; he's too busy taking photos for Instagram and giggling as Dylan changes her. Aiden puts up with it surprisingly well, but the costume is soft and warm, so Dylan's not totally shocked.

Mitch reaches out and touches the ears of the costume. "First Halloween, oh my god. She's growing up too fast."

"Yeah," Dylan agrees, swallowing past the lump in his throat. The hormones thing is getting a lot better, but he's always been pretty in touch with his emotions. He picks Aiden up and holds her so Mitch can see her whole costume. "What do you think, Daddy?"

Mitch kisses her on the cheek. "Maybe she can be a bear just this once."

"And not ever in the mornings, right?" Dylan says, looking at her. "We're gonna love mornings. We're not gonna be cranky at all when we wake up. Not a bear at all."

Aiden makes a grunting noise that's surprisingly bear-like.

Mitch cracks up. "Yeah, get all the bear stuff out now," he says, laughing as he boops her nose. "Are we ready for her grand debut?"

Dylan hands her over. "Lead the way, Dad."

"I would roar," Mitch says as they head back downstairs, "but I don't want her to cry. Shame, though."

When they get back to the party a series of flashes goes off. Aiden-bear's a hit with the paparazzi. She makes the squeaky grunting sound again, and at least two people start giggling. One of them is for sure Nuge. The other has to be either Matty or Ryan—possibly both.

"She is a _bear_ ," Connor says. He sounds about three seconds away from losing it. "Oh my god, I'm texting Brinksy _right now_."

"She's a Bruin," Nuge says between fits of laughter. "For one night only."

"No," Dylan and Mitch say in unison. Mitch looks back at Dylan, and Dylan's sure he looks as horrified as Mitch does right now. "Absolutely not."

There's another series of flashes, immortalising their horror forever.

Ryan comes over and leans in, petting the bear costume's fuzzy head. "Oh my god, John's going to lose it. She's so cute."

"Let's go call him before she spits up," Dylan suggests.

"Lemme start the recording app," Ryan says, clicking around on his phone for a minute before holding it up. "Okay, here goes."

JT doesn't take long to pick up; he's probably been waiting for a while. "Oh my god, it's an Aiden-bear," he says in a soft, goofy voice. Dylan can totally hear him beaming at the screen.

"Hi, Uncle John," Ryan says, reaching out to pick up one of Aiden's bear paws. He waves it at the screen. "I'm extra cute right now."

"Yes you are," JT replies, sounding impossibly fond. "I can't wait to meet you in person."

Aiden does her bear impression, and JT giggles. Never in his life did Dylan think he'd ever hear John Tavares giggle.

"Okay, she's too much," JT says. Ryan's beaming at his phone. "I'm hogging her right now, so I'll let you guys go. Ry, send me a bunch of photos, okay?"

"You know I will," Ryan replies. He wanders off so they can say goodbye privately, which is nice of him.

Connor and Nuge, on the other hand, are sitting on the sofa, almost on top of each other. Connor beams at him when Dylan heads their way. "Can I hold her? Is there a line?"

Dylan shakes his head sadly. "Davo, if there was ever a time to use you stardom to cut in line, this is it."

"I'm not cutting your mom in the baby-holding line," Connor says, scandalised.

"It's fine," Mom says. "I've had my turn, and I can see her whenever I want."

Connor sits up and makes grabby hands, and Dylan laughs. "Okay, wow," he says. "Hang on."

He sends Mitch over and starts taking video with his phone so he can record the exact moment Connor's heart melts. It doesn't take long at all; Dylan will have to watch the video later to confirm, but he's pretty sure it happens even before Mitch finishes arranging her in Connor's arms.

"Hello," Connor says, impossibly soft.

"Oh, wow," Nuge murmurs, putting his arm around Connor's shoulders and leaning in. "Hi, sweetie."

Connor traces Aiden's cheek with his fingers, and she turns her head for a non-existent bottle. She starts rumbling a little like she's gonna cry, and Dylan takes a step forward.

"Hey, there's no need for that." Connor rocks her a little, and she settles.

"What a gorgeous baby," Nuge says, still in that awed tone of voice. "She's so sweet."

Aiden starts growling again, and Mitch snorts. "Not so much when she's hungry. Want to try feeding her?"

Connor's eyes go wide and scared, but he doesn't look like he wants to let Aiden go. "Yes," Nuge answers for the both of them. "We can definitely handle that."

"Awesome, you can take the 4am feeding too!" Mitch teases, and then heads to the kitchen to get a bottle.

Nuge just shrugs, reaching down to poke at Aiden's hand until she uncurls her fist and grabs his finger. He beams down at her. "I mean, it's probably not the worst thing, am I right? Not if you get to see this face."

"I'm warning you," Dylan says. "She eats like a hockey player. Underneath the cute exterior is an angry, starving critter." They'll learn, sooner than later.

"Don't let her keep trying to drink after it's empty," Mitch says as he appears with a bottle. "It'll just make her gassy, and nobody needs a gassy baby bear."

Connor grins at him. "Thanks for the advice, Dad."

Mitch shrugs as he hands the bottle over. "You're holding her, man. I'm just trying to pass along what I've learned."

"No, I like the new you," Connor says softly. "It's cute."

Aiden starts actively crying, saving them from whatever probably embarrassing thing Mitch was about to say. Connor sticks the bottle in her mouth, and Nuge makes shushing noises. She grumbles even as she takes the bottle, but she settles pretty quickly into her usual "make this disappear as fast as I can" routine.

Nuge snorts. "You weren't kidding. She's worse than Ebs when the pre-game ice cream place is closed."

"It's a good thing there's a grocery right next door," Connor adds without looking away from Aiden's face. "Sometimes splitting a pint is the only solution."

"Milk junkies," Nuge says fondly.

"That's definitely Aiden," Mitch says, reaching for Dylan's hand.

Dylan squeezes Mitch's hand as they watch. It's a great first Halloween for sure.

-0-

Ryan's got a free pass on morning skate, but he has to be back in time to take his nap and get ready for the game, so he's flying out around 10 AM. It gives him time to experience the full Aiden morning extravaganza. She wakes up at 5:30 because she's just that excited to see Uncle Ryan.

"You guys do this every day?" Ryan says incredulously as Dylan makes her bottle and Mitch bounce-walks her around the kitchen.

Dylan shrugs. "Sometimes Mitch lets me sleep in when he gets back from a road trip."

Ryan mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "teenagers" and reaches for the coffee.

"I think Uncle Ryan said he wants to feed you!" Mitch says brightly, managing to dump Aiden into Ryan's arms before he picks his mug up.

Ryan whimpers, but he doesn't make a move to hand her back. Aiden grunts at him, which is about the response he deserves. Dylan hands the bottle over just as Aiden starts making the truly impatient noises, and Ryan gets it in her mouth first try. Aiden starts guzzling, sucking so hard on the bottle that little snorting noises come out of her nose.

"Wow, you are so gross," Ryan says, laughing.

"She was a bear all along," Mitch says, grinning.

Ryan rolls his eyes at them and focuses on communing with Aiden. "Food is the best," he informs her. "You have your priorities all figured out."

"She definitely agrees with you," Dylan says. "Pretty much every three or four hours, she's all about food."

Mitch nods along. "Sometimes every hour, when she's trying to drive us nuts."

"Usually that's overnight, though," Dylan adds.

Ryan turns to them and stares, slack-jawed. "How are you still alive?"

"Naps," they say in unison.

Aiden turns her head towards them, milk spilling down her cheek.

"Oops, sorry," Dylan tells her. "We'll be quiet."

"What, she can't have people talking while she eats?" Ryan asks, chasing her mouth with the bottle until she latches back on. "That's gotta get old."

"We think she's looking for us?" Mitch replies. "Like, she knows our voices, probably, and we're all the way over here."

Ryan makes the goofiest face imaginable. "That's so cute."

"She was fine with Connor feeding her last night," Dylan adds, just to add flame to the Uncle Wars. He needs to entertain himself somehow.

"Well, you were being quiet," Ryan argues. He shifts around a little, then makes a horrified face. "Oh, man, something smells."

Mitch points at Aiden and raises an eyebrow.

"No way!" Ryan exclaims. "She smells worse than our airplane toilet after a trip to Boston."

"I will bet you fifty bucks it's her diaper," Dylan says. He can't even smell it from here, but he knows that face, and he knows his daughter.

Ryan sets down the half-finished bottle. "You'd better take her."

Aiden's face crumples immediately.

"I think she nominates you," Dylan says, trying not to laugh. "And then she wants the rest of that bottle."

Mitch nods and crosses his arms over his chest. "Whoever smells it deals with it."

Ryan looks back and forth between them. "I'd say I doubt that's really the rule," he says slowly, "but with you two, I actually believe it." He heads up to the nursery without further protest, though. 

Dylan gives him a five minute grace period and then grabs the bottle. "Hey genius, you forgot something."

"Don't come up here!" Ryan yells back.

"Has that ever worked even once?" Dylan asks, and then Aiden starts shrieking.

"Shh, no, don't," Ryan pleads.

Dylan's heart thumps in his chest and he rushes down the hall. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Ryan says, panicked. He's holding Aiden sans diaper, and she's red-faced and screaming into his shoulder. "She's not bleeding? I don't think she's bleeding."

She's arching her back, and she wriggles hard when Dylan takes her. "Hey, it's okay."

He glares at Ryan as he rushes his unhappy baby through getting a new diaper on. He stops when it's fastened and looks Aiden over. She's still pissed, but now that he's listening it's the same angry screech she gets when they don't make her bottle fast enough, not anything scared or sick or whatever. He's about to ask why Ryan mentioned her not bleeding when his eyes fall on her belly button.

Dylan points to it and raises an eyebrow at Ryan. "Let me guess: it fell off and you scared the shit out of her."

"Body parts aren't supposed to fall off!" Ryan exclaims. " _She_ scared the shit out of _me!_ "

The worry in his voice makes Aiden start squirming again. Dylan puts her up on his shoulder and pats her back. "It's okay, Uncle Ryan's just a wimp."

"You could have warned me something was in danger of _falling off her body,_ " Ryan says. "What the hell was that, anyway?"

Dylan contemplates making up something horrific as revenge for the shrieking in his ear. He pats Aiden's back a few more times and she belches like an OHLer after shotgunning his first beer. Okay, so the shrieking isn't totally Ryan's fault. He shifts Aiden around, and she makes fish faces up at him, so he grabs the bottle and sticks it back into her mouth. "It's where the umbilical cord was connected. When she was born, they had to cut it and tape up the end, but it falls off in the first month. That's where belly buttons come from."

Ryan stares at them both. "I thought I broke her! She was yelling like I _broke her._ "

"You didn't break her," Dylan says. Now that Aiden's calmed down and happily eating again, it's getting sort of hilarious. "She probably started yelling because you were freaking out. Babies can tell."

"She trolled me." Ryan looks appalled.

"She's my kid," Dylan says proudly.

"Everything okay?" Mitch asks, appearing in the doorway.

"Aiden finally lost the umbilical stump," Dylan says. "Ryan reacted like it was her arm. We're all good."

"Aww, did the big bad hockey player scare you?" Mitch says, stepping forward and smoothing down Aiden's hair.

Ryan throws his hands into the air. "Is nobody going to apologise for not warning me that part of my niece's body was going to _fall off_ while I was changing her nasty-ass diaper?"

Dylan tilts his head. "I can't decide if this is funnier than JT and the stuffed otter."

"No," Ryan says immediately. "Nothing will ever beat the stuffed otter."

Mitch grins widely. "Do you need a hug, Uncle Ryan?"

"I'm gonna go call John, because he actually likes me," Ryan says, walking towards the hallway.

Mitch follows after him. "We're family! Let me love you!"

Ryan breaks into a run.

Mitch laughs when Ryan slams the door to the guest bedroom. "So, hey, brought your phone," he says, putting it on Aiden's changing table. "It kept making the email ding. Thought it might be important."

"Thanks." Dylan smiles down at him and waggles his eyebrows. "I'll accept Ryan's hugs."

"For you, I'll throw in a free bonus," Mitch says, grinning as he slings an arm around Dylan's waist. It's a little awkward navigating a kiss when Aiden's still chowing down in Dylan's arms, but he's nothing if not determined. It's not like they're going to get up to anything while Aiden's literally right between them, but Dylan's phone make the email noise before he can even wish that she was down for a nap, and also that he was up to actually doing anything exciting. He groans and pulls away.

"Here," he says, executing a perfect pass-off of baby and bottle before he reaches for his phone. There are five emails; most of them are from Isles' PR, but the latest is from JT. Dylan opens that one first.

It's fairly to the point, which is definitely why Dylan went there first. He reads it twice, then puts his phone to sleep without reading the others. "So," he starts.

Mitch pulls the empty bottle from Aiden's lips and sets it on the table before grabbing a burp cloth and assuming the position. "So," he repeats.

"The Isles want me to fly down there so they can do a bunch of medical evals," he says. "JT says they want to figure out a timeline for me going to the team."

"Oh," Mitch says slowly. He looks down at Aiden as she lets out a long burp. "Well, let's see if Uncle Ryan can be talked into watching her for a little while. We should probably talk details."

"Yeah, let's," Dylan says. It's been a while since he's felt the kind of nervous energy he's got now. It's a specific hockey feeling, and he's looking forward to working through the details so he can get back to playing.

-0-

Aiden has her one-month checkup at the beginning of November. Dylan doesn't want to say they go in over-prepared, but he and Mitch definitely looked on a bunch of baby websites to see what they should expect. Mitch cuddles Aiden close, protecting her from the mean old doctor.

Dr. Hewitt smiles. She's probably seen it a thousand times. "We need to weigh and measure her, and it's probably best if we get that out of the way first. Mitch, can you take her out of her clothes for me?"

Mitch pouts. "I hate this part."

"We still have to do it, sorry," Dr. Hewitt says. "If we get it out of the way first, then you can put her back into her clothes and she can get nice and warm again."

"Okay, here we go." Mitch starts undressing Aiden, and she makes an annoyed huffing noise.

"She doesn't like being cold," Dylan tells Dr. Hewitt as Mitch unsnaps Aiden's onesie. "She does like baths, though."

Dr. Hewitt smiles. "They develop opinions a lot earlier than you'd think."

Aiden lets out an angry squeal as Mitch pulls her socks off. "I've noticed," Dylan says dryly.

Dr. Hewitt goes through pretty much the same motions as last time, with an additional check to make sure Aiden's belly button is healing up. She laughs when Dylan tells her all about Ryan's mishap.

"That's why we warn new parents," she says. "It's always funny to hear about, but we don't want anyone freaking out."

"Okay, I've got you," Mitch says to Aiden, ignoring them both. She's starting to learn that keeping still means she gets warm faster, so there's a little less wriggling around than she'd done at the start. She has Mitch wrapped around her little finger, though. She whines until he picks her up, and makes an angry grunt right in his ear.

"I know, I know," Mitch says soothingly. "This is the worst and you hate it. I know, sweetie."

Dylan winces. At this rate he might have to send Mitch out of the room when Aiden gets her shot.

Dr. Hewitt asks about Aiden's eating and sleeping habits and seems pretty satisfied with their answers. Mitch keeps talking, and Aiden settles into making her favourite new noise: a soft cooing sound.

"She recognises your voice," Dr. Hewitt says. "That's very good."

Mitch beams. "I was wondering about that, since I'm gone so much."

"You don't have to worry," Dr. Hewitt replies, smiling at him. "That's her way of talking back to you right now. Babies her age have a pretty strong sense of stranger danger, so she wouldn't do it if she didn't know who you were."

Mitch buries his nose in Aiden's hair. "You're a genius, baby."

Dylan can't disagree. "She's starting to grab at things when we do tummy time," he volunteers. "She's not super coordinated, but she reaches for stuff."

"Good, she's tracking very well." Dr. Hewitt makes some notes and then sits back. "Now for the fun part: ask me anything."

"You go first," Mitch says generously.

"So we're both professional hockey players," Dylan starts. "Obviously I'm not playing right now, but my team has been in touch, and they want me to head down to New York in a couple weeks to do some evaluations and figure out what my rehab plan should be."

"Okay. How are you feeling about that?" Dr. Hewitt asks.

"A little nervous?" Dylan says, shrugging. "Is it okay to travel with her? I was thinking about bringing her with me, because Mitch has an away game while I'm supposed to be gone, but if she can't travel yet..."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Dr. Hewitt reassures him. "You might want to introduce a pacifier, so she has something to help reduce the pressure in her ears in the flight."

"That's good, okay," Dylan says, trying not to let his relief show too much. Mitch is quiet, apparently focused on Aiden. Dylan shuffles over to his side so he can bump up against him, and also so he can wiggle Aiden's toes. "Would it be better for her to not travel, though? Because, like, Mitch can absolutely watch her for half of it, and I'm sure we can manage the rest of the time with grandparents."

"Well, she hasn't had her first round of vaccinations yet," Dr. Hewitt points out. "And with plane travels there's always a risk of airborne pathogens. When were you thinking of traveling?"

"The 17th to the 20th," he says.

Dr. Hewitt nods. "Okay. It's up to you to decide, between the two of you. Like I said, there's no reason she can't fly."

"Except it might make her sick," Dylan says.

"That's a risk every time we take her out of the house," Mitch counters.

Dylan sighs. "Okay, yeah. We'll talk it over." He nudges Mitch. "What did you have on your list?"

Mitch hands Aiden over, and Dylan holds her close. She's not exactly sleepy, but she's blinking a lot as she looks around. He's getting used to her being awake without immediately being hungry. Dylan loves her so much it makes his chest hurt, and he wishes it was easier to protect her. He's glad that he and Mitch agreed wholeheartedly on getting her vaccinated. He can't imagine not giving her every protection that he can.

Dylan rocks Aiden while Mitch talks and takes copious notes. She makes that same little cooing noise at him as she did at Mitch earlier, and it's honestly the cutest thing. Putting her at risk unnecessarily would be the worst. But then, going away without her would be fucking awful.

"Hey," Mitch says, nudging him a little. "Dr. Hewitt has to give her a shot." He looks a little green around the gills.

"It might be a good idea to get a bottle ready," Dr. Hewitt suggests. "Feeding her after the shot will help calm her down."

"I'll do that," Mitch says quickly. He leans over and grabs a bottle from the diaper bag. "Do you have a microwave?"

Dr. Hewitt sends Mitch off to talk to the receptionist. She grins at Dylan. "Is that a plea to do it before he gets back?"

"I think so," Dylan replies. He takes off Aiden's sweater and bounces her a little when she whines.

"It'll be fast, don't worry," Dr. Hewitt says soothingly. She does something with a needle and a vial, and Dylan holds Aiden carefully still while Dr. Hewitt gives her the injection.

Aiden startles and starts yelling as loud as she did for Jagr's goal. Dylan hopes puking isn't in their near future.

"It's okay, it's okay," Dylan soothes.

"All done," Dr. Hewitt says, stepping back. She grabs a little band-aid and puts it on Aiden's arm.

"I'm back!" Mitch says, skidding into the room.

"Just in time," Dylan says, getting Aiden's arm back into her sweater. "Somebody would love her bottle right about now."

"Daddy to the rescue." Mitch bows, and hands the bottle over with a flourish.

Aiden's crying steadily, the angry, pissed-off one more than anything else, but she takes the bottle with only a little fussing. She's definitely a hockey baby; she loves to eat.

"There you go," Dylan says softly. "That wasn't so bad."

"We all survived," Mitch adds, brushing a tear off of Aiden's cheek. "Good job, team."

-0-

Dylan's not sure if there's a proper way to brace for Hallsy invading your house, but he gets a text that he's coming up the day before the Devils play the Sabres. Jack is newly diagnosed with a high ankle sprain, thanks to a nasty fall in his pre-game skate against the Sens, so apparently Hallsy's confident enough about beating the Sabres that he got permission to miss the day-before meetings. If all else fails, Dylan's pretty sure he can get Connor to let him in on some secret Hallsy weak spots.

For some reason, he doesn't think to prepare for at least one of every single Devils-branded baby thing in the world. Hallsy has a Devils carry-on, and he keeps pulling stuff out of it like a corporate-branded matryoshka doll. At this point, Dylan wouldn't actually be shocked if he managed to _find_ a Devils matryoshka.

Dylan picks up a bib that declares _I drool black & red._ "Well there's a disgusting mental image."

"Can we take a picture of her wearing it, though?" Hallsy asks eagerly. "Like. It's cute, and she can totally make it way cuter."

Dylan takes pity on him, because Hallsy's clearly sad his baby rookies got sent down and he can't torture them. "Sure. If you want, we can give her a bath and see if she likes the rubber duckie."

Hallsy picks it up and squeaks it. "There was, like, bubble bath? But Ebby said she's way too little for that, so I didn't get any."

"Eberle's right," Dylan says. "She's wriggly enough as it is; I don't want to add anything slippery."

"When will she be up from her nap?" Hallsy asks. He looks like he's barely holding himself back from wiggling in his seat. "Can we give her a bath right away, or does she need a few minutes?"

Dylan grins. "Okay here's the play: she wakes up, I deke left to change her diaper, then we see how hungry she is."

"I will stay back at the high point on that diaper change," Hallsy says. "But I'm there if you need to pass her off to grab a bottle."

Hallsy stays out of the shooting lane while Dylan gets Aiden out of bed, but he watches closely. Dylan can't help wondering if he's lonely, living in a new country. Aiden doesn't protest too much, but she's usually pretty good about post-nap diaper changes. Dylan's pretty sure it's because she's still mostly asleep.

"Dude, she's amazing," Hallsy whispers.

"Ready for step two?" Dylan asks as he wraps Aiden in a blanket. Hallsy nods and steps aside to let Dylan carry her to the kitchen.

As is custom, Aiden eats like she's starving and makes annoyed grunting noises that she can't teleport food directly into her belly. Hallsy looks incredibly charmed, which is totally appropriate.

"So what's it like in New Jersey?" Dylan asks, because Mikey and Nater have been suspiciously quiet since they got back.

Hallsy shrugs. "It's... fine, I guess. They're all super excited I'm there, so that's nice."

Dylan puts the bottle down and starts burping Aiden. He doesn't warn Hallsy, because some things need to be experienced without spoilers.

Sure enough, she belches long and loud, then smacks her lips together in satisfaction. Hallsy's stunned expression is amazing.

Dylan grins. "Spending years in locker rooms is actually pretty good practice for a baby. They're more weird and gross than you'd think."

Hallsy starts laughing. "Well, I mean, I can't say that doesn't make me feel better from time to time. Way to go, kiddo."

Aiden grabs a fistful of Dylan's shirt and coos at him, apparently pretty impressed with herself.

"Awwww," Hallsy says. "Can we give her a bath now?" He still has the rubber duckie, so he holds it up and squeaks it.

"We can try," Dylan says. "She's usually pretty fond of baths."

They head up to the bathroom and Dylan abruptly realises the flaw in his plan. Aiden's full and content and wide awake; if he puts her back down in her crib so he can run the bath she'll probably protest the injustice. Loudly.

He does have an extra set of hands, though, so he turns when he gets into Aiden's bathroom. "Hey, you wanna hold her for a minute so I can run the bath?"

Hallsy stares at him for a minute, making fish faces. "I'm good with water," he says eventually.

"She doesn't bite," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "Unless you, like, put your finger in her mouth."

Hallsy snorts. "So she's an enforcer. Got it; I'll keep my head up."

"I'm pretty sure you don't need to put your fingers in an enforcer's mouth for them to bite," Dylan says thoughtfully as Hallsy bends over the tub and starts the water. "Not too hot."

Eventually Hallsy gets the bath to Goldilocks temperature, and Dylan strips Aiden off quickly so he can get her in the tub before she has time to yell.

"That's a play you've run before," Hallsy observes, ducking out of the way so Dylan can plunk Aiden in the baby bather. She kicks her feet wildly, and a huge grin spreads over her face as water splashes everywhere.

Dylan grins back at her. "Hi. Look, you have a second person to drench."

"Is this a bath game?" Hallsy asks eagerly, kneeling down on the floor. "Do we see how wet she can get everything?"

Aiden squeaks loudly, flailing with her arms.

"It's definitely her bath game," Dylan says, laughing a little and splashing some water onto her belly. "Everyone in the splash radius plays whether they meant to or not."

Hallsy hides behind the duck.

"Nobody's safe," Dylan advises, splashing him.

"Nooo, Aiden, save me!" Hallsy says, squeaking the rubber duckie to get her attention.

She turns her head, trying to figure out what the noise is and where it's coming from. Hallsy reaches out and squeaks it right in her face. Aiden flinches, and her face crumples like she's about to cry. But instead, when Hallsy does it again, she cracks up laughing.

"Oh my god, she loves it!" Hallsy exclaims, squeaking it again. Aiden starts with the full-on belly laugh, and Dylan can't help laughing along.

Hallsy plays with her long enough that the tightness around his eyes disappears, so Dylan calls that a win. He sits back just as Aiden starts losing interest, which is pretty good intuition on his part. Or he really needs to stretch his calves.

Aiden protests when Dylan scoops her up, but she quiets down just fine once she's wrapped in a warm fluffy towel. She's pretty calm while Dylan dresses her, and she smiles widely up at Hallsy when he puts the dried-off duckie on her belly.

"Hey there, Jersey girl," Hallsy teases, grabbing her foot and shaking it.

She grabs for the duck, but she's still not super coordinated, so she ends up just batting it to the floor. She squishes her face up like she's gonna cry, so Dylan hastily scoops it up and puts it back on her belly. He shouldn't be surprised when she immediately bats it back onto the floor—Mitch is her dad and he's one of the biggest trolls in hockey. He doesn't really want to make this another game, but Hallsy dutifully picks the duck up and gives it back to her. It's a lost cause from that point.

Dylan picks her up and carries her to the living room. She's not really sleepy, not after bath time, but she's happy enough to just be held, and Dylan's pretty sure if he surrounds Hallsy with pillows he can get him to hold Aiden for a while.

"I'm gonna change before I sit on your brand new sofa," Hallsy says, grabbing his duffle bag.

Dylan snorts. "You're dripping everywhere. Trust me, you don't want to face the wrath of Connor if he finds out you left a wet shirt on his carpet."

"He will kill me and enjoy it," Hallsy says fondly. He unzips his bag and pulls out a shirt, and before Dylan can point him to the bathroom right around the corner, strips out of his wet one right there in the living room.

"Make yourself right at home," Dylan teases.

"I won't, because that would leave a mark that Davo would kill me for," Hallsy says, grinning as he drapes his wet shirt over his bag. "C'mon, Stromer. We've been over this."

Dylan's about to chirp him back about being a grown man afraid of his rookie, but then he sees Hallsy's necklace. There's nothing unusual about hockey players wearing a chain necklace; Mitch wears one under his jersey every game. Hallsy's, though, has two gold rings hanging from it.

Dylan clears his throat. "Is there something you want to share with the class?"

"Huh?" Hallsy asks, pulling his dry shirt on.

"The necklace," Dylan says. "When did that happen?"

Hallsy's hand flies up to his neck, clearly feeling the rings through his shirt. "Uh," he says. "Near the end of the summer, I guess. We're not... he didn't ask again. That's not what this is."

"Okay," Dylan says carefully. "Do you want to talk about it? Just this once I promise not to tell Davo."

"Kinda, yeah," Hallsy says, slumping onto the sofa. "I mean, I came up here to introduce Aiden to her awesome Uncle Taylor, but... I mean, if you're offering."

Dylan shrugs. "I'm pretty good at multitasking these days."

"I'm ordering food, though," Hallsy declares. "We're gonna need sustenance."

-0-

Dylan's glad he has a day off between Hallsy leaving and Jack arriving. It gives him time to process all of the emotions that Hallsy had apparently been bottling up since the last time he leaked them all over Dylan. Apparently Hallsy and Ebs are sort of engaged to be engaged, and it's both exciting and terrifying.

Dylan pets Aiden's hair as he waits for Jack to text. "I don't care who you want to marry when you get older," he says. "But please make it someone less... _Hallsy_." There's only so much drama Dylan can take.

He's just starting to get concerned about Jack when the gate alarm buzzes. "Lemme see the baby," Jack demands instead of introducing himself.

Dylan lets him through. "Don't marry a Jack, either," he tells Aiden very seriously.

He goes to the door to open it up and has to stifle a laugh. Jack's using a scooter for his leg, and it's absolutely the funniest thing Dylan has ever seen. "Is that a Sabres sticker?"

Jack scowls. "I'm injured. You're supposed to be nice."

"Baby cuddles," Dylan replies, and Jack's whole face lights up.

Dylan moves back, and Jack scoots into the house. "Beauty move not having any stairs."

"There's a guest room down here too," Dylan says. "We figured hockey happens."

"It sure does," Jack mutters. "I need a bathroom so I can wash up, and then I need baby cuddles."

Dylan snorts. "Yeah, yeah. You don't have to tell me three times."

"Baby cuddles," Jack says again, because he's still himself even when injured.

Dylan shows him through to the bathroom and heads to the kitchen to feed Aiden, so she'll be warm and sleepy for cuddle time. She's as happy to see her bottle as ever. "You're the cutest," Dylan says, enjoying the moment alone. "Everybody loves you, but Papa and Daddy love you the most."

Aiden blinks up at him and gives him a gummy smile. It's kind of gross, because milk dribbles down her cheek, but it's still pretty much the best thing ever.

"Okay, maybe you love me _almost_ as much as you love food," Dylan teases, wiping her face.

Jack can't really sneak up on anyone with his scooter, so Dylan's not shocked when he pipes up. "I think that puts you ahead of the game at this stage, honestly."

"Look, Aiden, Uncle Grumpy's back!"

"I flew all the way up here to meet her, and my lower leg still aches like a mother—like crazy," Jack amends. Dylan applauds his restraint. "You'd be cranky too. Can I hold her now?"

"You can go sit down while I burp her. Unless you're dying to take a bath in spit-up," Dylan teases.

He's more than a little surprised when Jack grins. "I can handle it. Where's the burpie?"

"Go. Sit," Dylan commands, breaking out his captain voice.

Jack rolls his eyes, but he wheels himself obediently back into the living room. He settles back on the sofa, propping his leg up on a pillow. "C'mon, stop holding out on me," he says when he's situated, making grabby hands.

"What do you think, Aiden? Should I be unpatriotic and let an American hold you?" Dylan teases.

Jack snorts. "I'm offering to burp her, and you're hesitating over border lines?"

Dylan shrugs. "Buffalo's pretty much honourary Canada, but you're from _Boston_."

"Aiden," Jack says, and his voice instantly changes to a super-soft baby voice that Dylan never would have guessed he could make. "Do you throw up on command? Think you could do Uncle Jack a solid and try?"

Dylan snorts. "Okay, it's Uncle Jack time! And if you happen to puke it's totally not my fault."

Jack doesn't even reply as Dylan hands Aiden off. His face is doing something absolutely ridiculous, but Dylan definitely can't blame him for that. Aiden just has that effect on people.

"This is totally unfair," Jack complains, reaching for the burpie. "I thought you'd be ugly like your dad."

"She's the cutest, though," Dylan says proudly.

"If I could run, I'd head for the border," Jack agrees.

"No you wouldn't," Dylan says. "You can't take her with you, so you're stuck right here." He conveniently neglects to mention that he's applied for Aiden's first passport. It'll get here while Jack is visiting, but he doesn't need to know that.

Jack gets through the whole process without incident, which is mildly disappointing. Dylan was really hoping Aiden would be on Team Papa and spit up all over him.

"Okay, since you're bogarting all the baby cuddles you have to entertain me," Dylan says. "Tell me about the Hanny situation."

"Oh my god," Jack groans, rocking Aiden a little. "Okay, like. I'm pretty sure Hanny's not telling everyone yet, so don't activate the phone tree, but, uh. You know about him and Coyle?"

Dylan nods. "I know it was serious enough that Hanny brought him to our big party. What happened?"

"Coyle's super pregnant," Jack blurts out. "Like. Halfway there already."

"No fucking way!" This is the most explosive gossip _ever_. Jack is the best.

"He had, like, four separate freak-outs about it or something," he goes on. "Apparently he decided that he shouldn't talk to Hanny at all until he figured his shit out, but then he just never figured it out."

Dylan leans forward in his chair. "So how did Hanny find out?" Damn, he wishes he had popcorn.

Jack sticks his chin out. "We played in Minnesota the game before I got injured. I, ah. Might have tracked him down and been a little bit of a dick to him."

"Yeah, that sounds like you," Dylan teases. Jack's a prickly motherfucker to everyone except kids and Noah Hanifin.

"He cut Hanny off for _two months, _" Jack says stubbornly. "He deserved the yelling."__

__"Okay that's fair." Dylan can't resist trolling him, though. "Eichs, are you blushing?"_ _

__"Coyle leaked tears," Jack complains. "It was the worst."_ _

__"Oh no," Dylan says, gasping theatrically. "Did he get feelings on you?"_ _

__"Yes," Jack hisses._ _

__Dylan laughs; he can't help it. The look on Jack's face is priceless._ _

__"And when I called Hanny to check in on him, he was leaking feelings too!" Jack lifts Aiden up and buries his nose in her hair, hiding from the cruel world. Aiden coos and whacks him in the head. Dylan's kid is the greatest._ _

__"I don't get it," Jack complains. "Hanny was sad for two months and now everything's supposed to be okay?"_ _

__"I mean, probably they'll talk a lot and figure shit out," Dylan says. "That's usually how relationships work. But if they love each other, well, they've got a shot at it working out."_ _

__Jack grimaces. "Love is bizarre. Who needs that shit?"_ _

__"I mean, it's working out pretty well for me," Dylan drawls. "You do you, though."_ _

__Jack rolls his eyes and blows a raspberry on Aiden's neck. She cackles, so naturally he does it again._ _

__Whatever stuff Jack is working through, Aiden definitely seems to be helping. And Dylan's more than okay with the extra set of hands. This visit should work out for everyone involved._ _

__-0-_ _

__Mitch has a few days at home while Jack is visiting, and Jack proves he's a true friend by offering to watch Aiden for a few hours so Dylan and Mitch can get out of the house. Leaving her is one of the hardest things Dylan's ever done._ _

__Mitch squeezes his hand when they get into the car. "I know, babe. She's gonna be fine, and we can text Eichs whenever we need an update."_ _

__Dylan nods. "Okay, let's go get lunch before I change my mind." Mitch has been dealing with this for weeks; Dylan can make it, too._ _

__"Anything in particular you want?" Mitch asks as he starts the car._ _

__"Burgers," Dylan blurts out. "Something I need two hands to eat." Aiden has an impeccable sense of timing; Dylan can't remember the last time he got through a meal without her crying at least once._ _

__"Your wish is my command," Mitch says, grinning at him before heading down the road._ _

__Dylan ends up drawing some horrified stares at Jack Astor's. He shovels food into his mouth as fast as humanly possible because he has to—Oh. Wait. Aiden's not here. He slows down, but not too much. It's not like he wants to drag the whole meal out forever; he's got a baby waiting at home for him._ _

__"Let's text Eichs," Mitch announces as Dylan's trying to decide a good speed to eat his fries at. "We can get a photo."_ _

__Jack sends them a closeup of Aiden's chubby face squished against his chest. Dylan's whole chest clenches, but she's passed out, mouth open. She's probably snoring. She definitely doesn't need him to rush home this very second._ _

__"That baby needs a hug," Mitch says breathlessly, like he's been punched in the chest too. Aiden's going to be hell on defence some day._ _

__"I'm sure if we asked nicely, Eichs would give her one," Dylan says, swallowing hard. "Actually, I'm pretty sure he'll do it whether we ask or not. We need to remember to frisk him before he leaves to make sure he's not trying to sneak her back across the border."_ _

__"I know where to find him," Mitch says darkly._ _

__"We don't have to end him if we just make sure one of us is holding her when he leaves," Dylan points out._ _

__Mitch frowns at the screen. "Wanna go home and make sure he isn't training her to cheer for Team USA?"_ _

__"I told her to puke down his shirt if he tried it," Dylan says. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to go make sure."_ _

__Mitch pays the bill and they scurry back to the car. Dylan feels a lot less ridiculous about his paranoia knowing that Mitch is right there with him. They don't break any speed limits on the way home, but it's a near thing._ _

__Jack makes a face at them when they walk back in. "Seriously, guys? That was barely an hour."_ _

__"You realise I haven't been away from her for longer than it takes to shower since she was born, right?" Dylan asks._ _

__"And I just spent way too many days away from her," Mitch adds._ _

__"We were bonding," Jack says, pouting._ _

__Mitch snorts. "You can bond at two in the morning."_ _

__"We have," Jack says. "And four, and six."_ _

__It's true; Jack isn't on the good drugs anymore so the pain wakes him up at horrible hours. He's become pretty damn good at bottles, and Dylan's taken shameless advantage. He can't make it up the stairs to Aiden's room, but he's more than happy to make a bottle when she starts fussing, and he lets Dylan veg out on the sofa while he feeds and burps her. All Dylan has to do is transport her._ _

__Mitch steps forward and makes grabby hands. "Hi, Aiden. You want Daddy, don't you?"_ _

__She turns her head towards his voice and coos._ _

__Mitch smiles so bright it's almost painful to look at. "Hi," he repeats. "I missed you too."_ _

__"God, she's too cute," Jack mutters, handing her over. "You guys are terrible. Make an ugly one next time."_ _

__"Not possible," Mitch says, snuggling Aiden close to his chest._ _

__Jack huffs. "You're probably right, which is terrible for Uncle Jack."_ _

__"Aww, it's okay," Mitch reassures him. "Someday you can have an ugly baby of your own."_ _

__Jack's face immediately goes soft. "My kid will be super cute, shut your whole face."_ _

__Dylan ignores them in favour of kissing Aiden's face and trying to avoid being poked in the eye. It's definitely not an easy task._ _

__"She still has ten fingers and toes," Jack says dryly._ _

__Dylan picks one of Aiden's hands up to check, just to be a troll, and finds some strands of curly hair. He picks it out and walks over to Jack, holding it next to his head. "Part of me doesn't want to know," he says after a moment. "But the rest of me really, really does."_ _

__"I have curls," Jack points out. "She has no manual dexterity."_ _

__"I have curls too," Dylan returns. "Her hands are never close enough to them for this to happen." Not after the first couple times she did it, anyway._ _

__"Sacrifices had to be made." Jack raises his chin, stubborn and unrepentant. Dylan suspects he was the victim of blowing raspberries on Aiden's belly. Apparently he hasn't learned the "let her hold your fingers in her hands" trick. Dylan will keep that one in his back pocket._ _

__"Did you pull Uncle Jack's hair?" Mitch asks Aiden, nuzzling her cheek. He's using that syrup-sweet baby voice. "What was he doing, huh? Was he singing _The Star Spangled Banner_?"_ _

__"That sounds like a request," Jack says, and he takes a deep breath._ _

__Aiden squeaks angrily._ _

__"What a good baby," Dylan coos, reaching out to rub at her back._ _

__Jack narrows his eyes. "I thought we had a deal, Aiden."_ _

__She mumbles a little and buries her head in Mitch's neck._ _

__"I win!" Mitch declares. If he wasn't holding Aiden, Dylan's pretty sure he'd be cellying._ _

__"You guys are the worst," Jack says, throwing his hands into the air. "I'm gonna go pack my stuff. Clearly I'm not wanted here." His epic flounce is a lot less dramatic than it should be, since he still has to use his scooter._ _

__"If only it squeaked when he used it," Mitch sighs, watching as Jack makes his way down the hall._ _

__Jack flips him off._ _

__Aiden giggles at who knows what, and it sets Mitch off, then Dylan. Soon enough, Jack's leaning against the wall in the hallway, laughing along with them._ _

__"Okay, fine, you win," Jack says after a minute. "Just don't tell anyone I'm weak to baby giggles."_ _

__"Your secret is safe with us," Dylan promises._ _

__For now, at least. But Hanny will probably find that out all on his own._ _


	32. Chapter 32

Jack is definitely more upset about leaving Aiden than she is about him leaving; Dylan sort of wants to tease him about having his own, but he's got a feeling that's part of whatever Jack's working through, so he lets it go for now. Mitch seems to get that there's something else going on and keeps his mouth shut, so Dylan doesn't have to pinch him.

"A night to ourselves before you guys leave in the morning," Mitch murmurs as Jack's taxi pulls away. "Cuddle time?"

Mitch spends some quality time communing with Aiden, and Dylan tries not to feel like shit for taking her away from her dad. They have to get used to it, but it doesn't make Dylan feel any better about leaving for four days. Especially when Mitch is home for half that time, and Dylan's picturing him sadly rattling around this big empty house.

Mitch takes every single feeding and diaper change overnight, which isn't usually a thing he does the night before a game, but Dylan lets him. Mitch has had some time to get used to leaving Aiden, but it must be weird to be the one left behind by a six-week-old.

Aiden wakes them up for the last time fifteen minutes before Dylan's alarm goes off, because of course she does.

"Oh my god," Mitch groans. "How do you do this?"

"Naps," Dylan says. "Lots of naps." Also it's really lucky she's cute.

They head into the nursery together; as soon as Aiden sees them, the waterworks stop and she smiles at them.

"I love you," Mitch says to her, "but oh my god, why?"

She laughs, clearly super pleased with herself as Mitch picks her up.

"You're the worst," Mitch sing-songs, but he kisses her on the cheek anyway.

They go through their morning routine like normal, but the closer it gets to nine, the tenser Mitch gets.

"Hey," Dylan says softly, "I got you something."

"Yeah?" Mitch says. He's swaying a little with Aiden in the kitchen.

Dylan goes to the living room to get the box from the hall closet, then returns to set it on the table. "It's a picture frame," he says, shrugging a little. "But, like, we can set it up on the wifi, and then I can upload photos right to it from my phone."

Mitch blinks at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, I just thought you'd want to see her living it up in the Big Apple."

Mitch smiles. "That's awesome, Dyls. That's really, really great."

Dylan steps forward and hugs him, careful not to squish Aiden. "We love you. And when you get home from Montreal we'll be right here."

"And you'll put a ton of pictures of her taking Brooklyn by storm on my awesome new picture frame," Mitch says, putting an arm around Dylan's waist and resting his head against his shoulder.

They enjoy the moment for a while, until Dylan's alarm goes off. "Want to put her in the car seat?" he offers.

Mitch pulls back and nods without saying anything. He takes a deep breath and brushes a gentle kiss against Aiden's forehead before heading for the garage.

Yeah, Dylan definitely feels like shit. There's really nothing he can do about it right now, though, as much as he wants to. The Isles want him in Brooklyn, and they'd decided that Dylan bringing Aiden was better than leaving her with the grandparents while Mitch was out of town.

Mitch straps Aiden in and stands up. "I'll miss you."

"She'll be fine," Dylan says quietly. 

Mitch turns and wraps his arms tightly around Dylan. "I meant you, stupid. This is the longest we've ever been together in one place. Guess I kinda forgot you'd have to go back to the real world eventually."

"If I could get traded here, I'd do it in a heartbeat," Dylan says, burying his face in Mitch's hair.

"I know." Mitch squeezes him tight. "You'll be awesome."

"And you already are," Dylan says.

Mitch squeezes him even tighter for a second before pulling back. "Okay, we're both the best, and Aiden's even better," he says, pulling on a shaky smile. "You'd better get on the road. Can't miss your flight."

"And you can't miss practice," Dylan reminds him.

"I'm out the door right after you," Mitch promises. "Text me from the airport, okay?"

Dylan kisses him goodbye and gets in the car. Leaving is way harder than he imagined it'd be, but he manages to keep it together and head for the airport.

Pearson has valet parking, which is essential because Dylan had no idea until now that one little human could need so much stuff. They have curbside check-in, too, so Dylan only has to drag their bags from the car to the counter. He hands his keys to the valet and the checked bags to the woman behind the counter, and then it's just him and Aiden and their carry-ons. He has time before boarding to give her a bottle, and she's as happy as ever. Dylan snaps a quick photo of her smiling at one of the many people who come over to say hi and sends it to Mitch.

Mitch sends back a flurry of hearts.

_about to board,_ Dylan tells him. _wish us luck!!_

Mitch replies with a nonsensical keysmash, and then a picture comes through of Morgan Rielly, nostrils-first.

Dylan raises an eyebrow at his phone, then looks at Aiden. "I think Daddy's phone got stolen," he informs her.

"Ooooooh," Aiden replies.

"I know, it's terrible."

Dylan's phone buzzes again; this time it's a photo of Rielly with both arms around Mitch, clearly mid-laugh as he leans away from the phone. Mitch is reaching for the phone, smiling, and Dylan can tell by the way he's holding himself that Rielly's about to get an elbow to the stomach.

_looks like you're in good hands_ , Dylan replies.

_He says have a good flight_ comes a moment later. _He'll get his phone back after practice. Otherwise he'll just pout at it until then._ It's followed by a selfie of Auston Matthews' very serious face. _I'll keep it safe._

_just don't let him break his phone,_ Dylan replies, grinning. _i'm trusting you, matthews._ He's glad that Mitch won't be on his own the whole time he and Aiden are away. One thing you can always count on in hockey: your team has your back.

He shuts off his phone and gets ready to board, feeling like a weight's been lifted off his chest. Which technically isn't true, because Aiden's falling asleep and she gets pretty heavy for someone so tiny. He's just hoping she manages to sleep through the flight. It's a little under two hours, so it's possible.

"Okay, kid," he says, trying to smooth down her hair. "Let's go."

-0-

The flight actually goes fairly well; Aiden whines during takeoff, but Dylan gives her a pacifier and she nods back off. She wakes up shortly before they land, but a bottle cures all ills.

Dylan doesn't take long to spot Ryan at arrivals. He's the one pretty much bouncing on his toes.

"Aiden, hi, baby," he says when Dylan pushes Aiden's stroller through the security gate. He holds his hands out impatiently. "Can I?"

Dylan snorts. "Yeah, sure, I'll take the bags, you take the bundle of mischief."

"Mischief?" Ryan gasps, dramatically, leaning in to boop Aiden's nose. "Never. Not this little angel."

Aiden burps in his face. Then she cracks up, and Dylan has to bite his cheek to keep from joining her.

"Who's been corrupting you?" Ryan demands. "You can tell me."

"Tell him all about Uncle Jack," Dylan supplies. "And how he tried to corrupt you with the wrong national anthem, so you cried and pulled his hair."

"No way." Ryan looks over at Dylan, eyebrows raised. "I know you're a proud papa, but that is seriously next level."

"She's the best," Dylan says proudly. "Where's baggage claim? I need to grab our stuff, and then I need to change her."

Ryan grimaces. "Might want to reverse the order of that."

"Whoever smells it deals with it," Dylan reminds him, smiling sunnily.

"What if I promise to get all the bags and load them in the car for you?" Ryan asks hopefully. "And take you for lunch?"

"Deal." Dylan holds out his hands.

He heads off to the bathroom and makes quick work of the diaper; true to his word, by the time Dylan gets Aiden out to the curb, Ryan has loaded everything into the car except her car seat. "I don't know how it works, and I wanted to make sure it was in there right," Ryan says, gesturing to it.

"I told him to just YouTube it," someone says from in the car. Dylan ducks his head down, and JT smiles. "Hey. Welcome to New York."

If Dylan wasn't holding Aiden, he'd smack Ryan in the arm. "Nice to see Ryan made you wait in the car," he says. "Thanks for picking us up, though."

JT smiles softly. "It's no problem. Nice to finally meet your future draft pick, though."

"Oh my god, get out of the car," Dylan says, laughing. "Come say hi while I wrestle with the car seat."

Ryan snorts and taps Dylan on the arm, holding his hands out. "Trust me. Once John gets her, you're gonna have to pry her out of his arms. I'll hold her while you do the seat, and then he can fawn all over her at the restaurant."

Dylan rolls his eyes and hands Aiden over. "Watch the genius at work."

It's not actually that difficult to strap in; the tough part is figuring out which part of the base is the front part. Luckily, Dylan only took it out of his own car a few hours ago, so he gets it settled into Ryan's car in no time.

Once he's done with the seat, Dylan holds out his hands for Aiden. "Ready to hit the road, baby girl?"

"Eeeeeee," Aiden agrees.

JT laughs. "Better buckle yourself in too."

Once they're all in and buckled, JT heads for the exit. Dylan takes a moment to snap a photo of Aiden and send it to Mitch's photo frame; it'll still be cute even if Mitch has to wait until he’s home to see it. Dylan steals her foot, and Aiden spends the whole drive trying to kick him loose.

It takes a while to get from JFK to Brooklyn; by the time JT parks the car, Dylan's more than ready for some food. Aiden's starting to whine, too; Dylan guesses the little snack she had before getting off the plane is wearing off.

"Okay, I've got you," he promises, rummaging through the diaper bag for one of the premade bottles he took on the plane.

"Do you want to feed her in the car, or can she hold on a minute?" Ryan asks as they unbuckle. "We're not even a two minute walk from the restaurant, and we won't have to wait for a seat. Nobody'll be there this time of day."

"Have you not met her before?" Dylan replies, unbuckling Aiden and lifting her out of the car seat.

"Does the binky work?" JT asks. "If not, we'll hang out here. It's not a big deal."

Dylan somehow managed to forget about the pacifier, maybe because it's relatively new or maybe because he's just that fucking tired. "This is why you're the captain."

"I have given serious thought to their effectiveness in shutting up some of the guys on long plane trips," JT says, shooting him a smile. "Let's get her inside so she can get an actual bottle."

Dylan gives Aiden her binky and she starts sucking immediately. "Okay, I've got her and the diaper bag. Someone grab the seat and let's get inside before she gets mad again."

No-one even blinks when three burly guys walk into the cafe with a tiny baby. Dylan kind of loves Brooklyn already.

"Okay, what's good here?" Dylan asks once they're seated. "And keep in mind that I'm making up for nine months without cheese."

"Which is why I brought you here," Ryan says. "They have eight different kinds of grilled cheese."

Aiden starts squirming; she's finally figured out that there's no milk on the other end of the binky. "Okay, just order me something," Dylan says, reaching for the diaper bag. "I'm gonna feed her before she screams the whole place down."

JT raises his eyebrows, like he just can't believe Aiden would ever do such a thing. He will learn, Dylan's sure.

Ryan ends up ordering for all three of them, because JT's entranced. Aiden does her little bear impression while she eats, then belches like a pro. None of it makes JT look any less thrilled.

"Can I hold her?" he asks, just as Dylan's debating whether or not she'll protest if he puts her down.

"It's kinda hard to eat with a baby," he warns. "She'll be way happier not going back in the seat, but she'll live if you want to eat first."

"Nah, I'll manage," JT says. "Better to keep her happy, right? And I haven't had the chance to hold her yet."

Dylan can't argue with that; baby cuddles are pretty awesome.

Aiden's pretty content to just chill out with JT, which is great. It seems like he can't stop staring down at her. Dylan can relate. Still, it's pretty awesome to have both hands free for lunch.

Ryan ordered him a triple-decker grilled cheese with bacon on it; there's cheese melting all over the plate when the waiter puts it in front of Dylan. "This is why you're godmother," Dylan says, turning the plate so he can see it from every angle.

The best part is getting to eat it without interruption, because Aiden's warm and sated after her bottle. JT manages his sandwich with one hand; Dylan's glad Aiden isn't squirmy, because he's pretty sure JT would rather abandon his sandwich than put her down at this point. Ryan has a small, happy smile on his face that Dylan's so going to ask for details about later.

The sandwich is delicious. Dylan's not sure how far Ryan's apartment is from here, but he hopes it's close enough that they can come back without it being a hassle.

"I hate to break up team bonding," Dylan says when they all finish, "but we should probably get to the apartment."

"Sure, yeah," Ryan says. He's smirking a little. "Hey, John, if you put her in the car seat, it'll probably be easier to carry her."

JT makes a confused face.

"There's a handle on the car seat," Dylan adds. "You can just grab it with one hand. And she's strapped in, so it's totally safe."

"Sure," JT says dubiously, cuddling Aiden closer to his chest. She sighs contentedly and grabs JT's shirt in her hand, nuzzling against him. "Or I could just walk with her," he says, his heart melting right in front of them. "It's only a couple of blocks to Ryan's."

"Just make sure you keep her blanket tucked around her," Dylan instructs. It's November in Brooklyn; just because it's a nice day doesn't mean Aiden won't get cold.

Ryan snorts. "Yeah, she gets angry when she's cold."

"So do you," JT says, carefully leaning over and retrieving Aiden's blanket from her car seat. "I guess it's a family trait."

Dylan shakes his head at Ryan. "Playing hockey probably wasn't your greatest idea."

"Blasphemy," Ryan scoffs as they stand up. He leans over and picks up Aiden's seat, which leaves Dylan with just her diaper bag. "Hockey's the best idea."

"It is," JT agrees, smiling down at Aiden. "Except Aiden. She wins."

Dylan's certainly not going to argue with that.

-0-

Ryan laughs the entire drive back to his apartment about how JT would rather walk than let go of Aiden. They're able to get all of the luggage upstairs before JT gets there, though, which means Dylan doesn't spend the time afraid Aiden's going to start crying before they finish.

The intercom buzzes just as Dylan collapses on the sofa. That was more of a workout than he's had in a while.

"Uh. Can I get some help?" JT says.

Ryan smacks himself in the forehead. "Right, I'd better let him in."

"He doesn't have access?" Dylan asks.

"He's probably too scared to take a hand off the princess," Ryan corrects.

"Fair," Dylan concedes. "I'm gonna sit here and warm up a spot on the sofa. You let me know if you need any help with that."

Aiden makes a happy, squeaky noise that crackles through the speaker, and Ryan takes off running. She's got them wrapped around her little finger.

He gets a minute of quiet, and then JT and Ryan appear at the door. Dylan has to catch his breath a little at the sight of the two of them looking so adoringly down at a baby. Dylan's been keeping his mouth shut, trying not to bug Ryan too much about how things are going, but there's only so much one person can take. They look like a Christmas card, Ryan leaning into JT, both of them smiling at Aiden.

Dylan gets up quietly and goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water. They can have their moment.

Ryan appears a few minutes later, Aiden in his arms. "John had to go to the bathroom," he says, laughing a little. "Otherwise you might never have gotten her back."

"You and _John_ look pretty cosy," Dylan replies, because he can't help himself.

"I've seen the way you look at your _husband_ ," Ryan shoots back. "No way am I anywhere close to that."

Dylan feels like he deserves credit for not laughing in Ryan's face. "You're okay, right? The whole not living together thing doesn't seem to have slowed you guys down that much."

"I love him," Ryan says, quiet and rushed like he's bursting to tell someone. "Like. A lot."

Dylan throws an arm around Ryan's shoulders and gives him a side-hug, so he won't squish Aiden.

"Aww, family hug," JT says, appearing in the doorway.

Dylan bites his tongue.

"We're heading to the practice rink now, right?" Ryan asks, not moving away from Dylan. "I'd say you could take Aiden down to the car, but I'm a little afraid you'd try to walk there."

"You're hilarious," JT says flatly, but he can't help letting a smile peek through.

They're kind of gross about each other. Dylan's starting to get what Jack was saying about him and Mitch.

"Let's get to the rink," Dylan says before they can get too sappy. "I want to meet a few of the guys, if there's time."

"There should be plenty of time," JT says. "Let's head over now."

JT begrudgingly lets Dylan strap his own kid into her car seat, but he hovers and watches intently. Dylan's tempted to make a joke about taking notes, but he's sort of afraid JT will pull out his phone and start typing. Dylan learned his lesson with Mitch: never joke about notes.

The drive to the practice rink isn't bad; they get there in plenty of time for Dylan to talk with whoever's there before practice starts and Dylan has his appointment.

Boychuk's there early, which means someone probably tipped him off. Ladd's there too, which means Dylan gets to meet the missing member of the Isles' top line.

"Uh. Hi," Dylan says quietly. It'd be kinda nice to hide behind Aiden, but Ryan and JT have reclaimed her.

"Dylan!" Boychuk says warmly. "Good to have you. How's the kiddo?"

Dylan waves vaguely. "Entertaining the captain. She's good, though." He can't help but smile; Aiden's the best.

Ladd grins back at him. "You have dad face."

"Comes with the territory," Dylan says, shrugging a little. "I can't help it."

Ladd and Boychuk demand pictures, since the real live baby is nowhere to be seen; Dylan's happy to have a new audience. They both have kids of their own, so they know exactly how to ooh and aah over everything Dylan shows them.

"This almost makes me miss the newborn stage," Ladd comments.

"Nope," Boych says cheerily. "I'm fine with them being a little bigger. She's adorable, Stromer, but just wait."

"She's not allowed to grow up," Ryan protests as he comes to join them.

"They do that," Ladd says unapologetically. "Where is she? I thought you had her."

Ryan snorts. "John's her new best friend. If he thought he could get away with it he'd probably put her in a snow suit and take her out on the ice."

"No," Dylan says sternly. "Mitch and I have dibs on her first skate."

"Oh my god," Boychuk mutters, elbowing Ladd in the ribs. "Look."

Dylan turns just in time to see JT walking slowly past the door to the locker room, bouncing Aiden gently as he presses a kiss to her hair.

Ryan makes a wounded noise, and his feet seem to carry him forward without his permission.

"Oh my _god_ ," Ladd whispers, elbowing Boychuk back even harder.

Dylan sighs. "Trust me, I know."

"Hey, JT, can we meet her, or are we interrupting your covert babynapping operation?" Boychuk calls, grinning.

JT shakes his head, smiling softly.

"Gimme," Ladd says, holding his hands out. "I wanna meet the tiniest Isle."

Boychuk shoves him off-balance. "Get in line."

"I asked first!" Ladd protests.

"I knew first," Boychuk says smugly.

Dylan nods. "It's true. And he rescued me from food that would've made me puke."

"Fine," Ladd says, sighing dramatically and slumping back into his stall.

Ryan comes back, towing JT behind him. "Look what I found."

"Boych won the coin flip," Dylan interjects before either of them can say anything. "He gets to say hi first. Sorry, JT, time to share."

JT glares at Boychuk. "You're lucky I'm a team player."

"Okay, man, wow," Boychuk says, laughing as he takes Aiden. "You can see her after practice. I gotta get my time in now."

Dylan doesn't even have to look to know that Ryan's blushing bright red. He has almost no ability to hide his _I'm boning the captain_ face.

"Hi there, Aiden," Boychuk says, smiling down at her. It's a little weird to hear a baby voice coming out of a guy his size, but Dylan's getting used to it. "How was your flight, huh? Did you scream the plane out of the sky?"

Dylan snorts. "Well, we got here just fine, so no."

"You must've slept the whole time then, huh," Boychuk goes on. "Babies usually don't like planes that much."

Aiden proves his point by yawning widely.

"Aww, sleepy kiddo," Ladd says, leaning in. "And look at your hair! That's amazing."

"Yeah, she takes after Ryan. My hair wasn't this dark when I was little," Dylan replies. "And Mitch was totally blond."

"Mine were both completely bald when they were born," Boychuk says, grinning. "My wife said it was because there was no extra room in there for hair to grow."

Ryan snorts. "Our little brother was like that too."

"His draft is going to be hilarious," Dylan adds.

Aiden squirms a little and starts whining.

"I know, baby, they smell like hockey." Dylan reaches for her, and she turns towards his voice.

"It's probably better she starts getting used to that now," Ladd points out.

Ryan frowns. "Aw, let her be, she's just a little hockey speck."

Dylan settles Aiden in his arms and starts rocking her. "It's tough being a little hockey speck," he echoes.

"Are you calling your child a hockey puck?" Boychuk asks in disbelief. "I hate to tell you this, but that's definitely a baby."

"I meant what I said and I said what I meant," Dylan replies. Then he turns on his heel and heads out of the locker room.

-0-

"So, Boych and Ladder definitely think you call Aiden a hockey puck," Ryan tells him cheerily when Dylan straps her into the car after the appointment is over. "They told the whole team, so expect some chirping on that front."

Dylan snorts. "I'm the rookie, they had to find _something_ about me that's less than perfect."

"You're gonna skip a lot of the usual rookie shit," Ryan says, shrugging. "Like, they can't make you stay after to pick up pucks, not when you've got a baby to get back to. So they'll make it up in other ways."

Aiden snores, oblivious to the impact she's having on Dylan's career.

"Uh," Dylan says. "I mean, I'm the rookie. I can do that stuff."

Ryan snorts. "Trust me when I say that nobody on the team is even gonna think about asking you to."

"I don't want special treatment," Dylan insists.

"And you won't get any on road trips. But there's a line between pranking and hazing." Ryan's jaw is set; he's made up his mind. "Also, it wasn't me. I mean, I didn't bring it up. It was Ladder, and Boych backed him up. I think they talked it over before we got on the ice."

Dylan raises his eyebrows. "So I'm on the dad squad?"

"Apparently," Ryan says, shooting him a grin. "Look, they're good guys. And you're kind of doing the single dad thing during the season, even though you're going to be on the phone with the hubby a gross amount of time and also you've got me."

Dylan snorts. "Pretty sure JT's not exactly going to make himself scarce."

"I, uh," Ryan says, studiously staring at the traffic light. "Look, it's your place too, so if you want to set up some ground rules we can do that."

"It can wait until I actually move here," Dylan replies. "But I think if we start with no sex where the other one can walk in, we'll be fine."

Ryan nods. "John said we should have brother time, too. So we can hang out without the captain."

"As long as I don't have to start calling him _John_ ," Dylan teases. "I mean, I like the guy, but that's a whole new world there." A second later Dylan realises what he just said, and starts quietly singing, "I can show you the wooooorld..."

"Don't sing," Ryan pleads. "Your poor baby."

"She loves it," Dylan retorts.

Aiden coos in her sleep from the backseat, and Dylan smiles smugly.

Ryan shakes his head. "I'm going to have to un-corrupt her."

"Not with your singing voice," Dylan says, amused. Dylan's not exactly radio-worthy, but Ryan can't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid. He sings a few more lines about unbelievable sights and indescribable feelings while Ryan makes a series of annoyed faces. It gets them back to the apartment, which is just a bonus.

"So," Ryan says loudly. "Let's go look at Aiden's room and talk about all the cute stuff we need to buy for it."

"Ooh, retail therapy! Lead the way."

Ryan grabs his gear while Dylan gets Aiden and all of her stuff. He's pretty sure the hockey gear weighs less. They go upstairs, and Dylan dumps the diaper bag in the spare room and sets the car seat down on the bed. This is the sucky part. "Sorry," he murmurs, unstrapping Aiden and lifting her out of her car seat.

Sure enough, she squeaks and starts crying at him.

"I know, honey, but you can't nap in your car seat when you're not in the car." Dylan bounces her, trying to calm her. "It's a whole thing 'cause you have a bobble head right now."

She screeches, whacking him in the chest.

"Life isn't fair when you're tiny," Dylan agrees. He checks her diaper and grimaces. It's soaked through, which means the car seat might also be soaked. He's just glad her seat has an insert that's easy to clean. The cloth ones are cute, but her seat would reek if they had one.

Aiden continues to protest the unfairness of the world while Dylan strips her down. "Wow, you really gave yourself a bath," he says, wrinkling his nose. The drive from the rink wasn't even that long. Sometimes her ability to pee is the most amazing thing about her. "At least it wasn't a blowout. I'm not sure Uncle Ryan would still think you're cute if you got poop in your hair."

She definitely needs a bath, though. "Hey, Ryan," Dylan calls. "You got a baby bather, right?"

"It was on the 'before I get there' list, so yeah," Ryan calls back. "It's in the bathroom." There's a pause, and then he pops his head in. "Wait, is it bath time?" he asks excitedly.

"Yeah, this little troll definitely needs a bath." Dylan puts a clean diaper on Aiden and wraps her in her warm fluffy robe.

"Awesome," Ryan says, pleased. "I got her a rubber ducky, too. You said she liked the one Hallsy gave her, so I got her a better one for here."

Dylan snorts. "If we get her too many Anaheim might try to claim her as a mascot."

"Over my dead body," Ryan says sweetly. "Anyway, until they start making rubber teddy bears, we're stuck with them."

Dylan grimaces. "If you want a rubber teddy, that's your business."

"Remember the rule about asking me about my sex life," Ryan says, grinning sharply at him. "I _will_ tell you, in as much detail as I can, because it will be way worse for you than it is for me."

"Mutually assured destruction," Dylan says, nodding. "Let's get Aiden in the bath before she realises she's naked and gets drunk on power."

"By which you mean pee more," Ryan guesses, making a face. "Yeah, okay, bath."

Aiden settles down to a whining coo while they get the bath ready, but Dylan can tell she's biding her time for an excuse to lose it. "If you keep it together a little longer we can call Daddy," he promises.

She whines, clearly unimpressed.

"You're probably right," Dylan replies. "Daddy should be napping. He has a game tonight."

"Do you just, like, get this ability when you have a kid?" Ryan wonders, turning the water off. "You're constantly talking like she's replying."

"She likes my voice, unlike some people," Dylan replies.

"It's just weird," Ryan says. "You're, like... a dad."

Dylan does an exaggerated double take. "Oh my god, you're right. How did that happen? Who is this?"

Ryan lifts Aiden out of Dylan's arms and pulls her robe off. "This is crankypants," he says as she starts wailing. "And she's about to get a bath."

Dylan tests the water, grinning when Aiden proves her crankypants nickname by yelling in Ryan's ear. "Diaper off, then hand her over," he instructs, holding out his hands.

Ryan complies, but he handles her like a live explosive. Honestly, that's fair; Dylan's been peed on more times than he'd like to count. Her shrieking gets a little less deafening when Dylan grabs her, and then quiets to little hiccuping sobs when he puts her into the water. She splashes around a little, still crying, but she's smiling as she does it.

"There we go, you're not dying after all," Ryan says, and then catches himself. "Oh my god, it's contagious."

"Pretty much," Dylan says, laughing and reaching down to tickle Aiden's tummy. She giggles, and Dylan gently wipes at her face. "You get used to it."

"How can you ever get used to that face?" Ryan says as Aiden starts cooing.

"Honestly, you just don't," Dylan admits. She kicks her feet, splashing Dylan, and starts cackling.

"You're a troll just like your dad," Dylan says affectionately. She's _his_ troll.

-0-

Dylan's phone rings while Ryan's out at practice; it's a local area code, so he picks it up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Dylan. It's Kelly, from the front office. How's everything going?"

"Oh, hey," Dylan says. "Everything's good so far. What's up?"

"The media relations team caught wind of some of the team chatter," she says, amused. "Apparently they're all calling your daughter a baby hockey puck?"

Dylan snorts. "That's a mistake, but it was hilarious so I didn't correct them. Ryan and I sometimes call her the speck, like _Horton Hears A Who_."

"Aw, that's adorable," she says, laughing a little. "Okay, that makes a little more sense. Like I said, though, media relations heard about it, and they asked if I'd reach out to you to see if you were comfortable with us using it as an in-game video, like one of the things we air on the Jumbotron during commercial breaks."

"Using what?" Dylan asks. If they want clips of the guys saying ridiculous shit he's not sure why they're asking him.

"They have a silly little sketch planned out," Kelly replies. "They're calling it 'five ways to tell a baby from a hockey puck.' If you're okay with it, we'd like to have you come in tomorrow and film a few scenes with Aiden."

Dylan's brain screeches to a halt. "With Aiden, like, on camera?" He's sent plenty of pictures to friends and family, but when she was born they only released photos that didn't show her face. They've stuck to it, other than the locked Instagram they post things to.

"Not her face," Kelly assures him. "Honestly, most of it wouldn't involve her at all. I can forward you a copy of their script if you want to take a look at it before giving me an answer. And if you're not comfortable with it, Dylan, then tell me no."

"I need to talk to my husband," Dylan replies. "And we'll both take a look at the script."

"Okay, sounds good," she replies. "I'll email this to you now. I'm here until the game is over tonight, so let me know at some point before then if you can."

"Okay, I'll try." Dylan's pretty sure he'll be able to catch Mitch at some point; it doesn't take long to fly from Toronto to Montreal.

"Great," she says warmly. "I'll talk to you later, Dylan."

Dylan hangs up and texts Mitch. He's not expecting a reply right away, but to his surprise, he gets one. _plane has wifi!! text me a pic!_

Aiden's passed out in the middle of Dylan's bed for her first nap of the day, surrounded by pillows in case she spontaneously figures out how to roll. She's got a little Isles baby blanket that Ryan claims someone left in his stall after practice yesterday. At first, Dylan hadn't been sure if he was trying to hide that he'd purchased Aiden yet another gift, but after meeting the guys, he's actually pretty convinced it was a Boychuk-Ladd combo. He snaps a pic and sends it through. Mitch replies with a string of exclamation marks.

_hey so i'm emailing you a thing,_ Dylan texts. _PR wants to do a vid with aiden. i have the script+told them we'd talk and i'd let them know._ He switches to his email and forwards the script; maybe if they both look at it while Mitch is on the plane, it'll make talking about it quicker once he lands. Dylan doesn't want him to miss any sort of team thing. At any rate, Dylan needs to get through it while Aiden's preoccupied chasing Zs.

_huh ok i'll read it and call you when we land,_ Mitch replies. _talk to you soon._

Dylan gets himself a cup of coffee and settles down to read. It's a luxury, these days, getting to drink a whole cup while it's still hot. The script isn’t all that long, and Kelly was right; there's really very little that calls for Aiden to be on screen, and they can keep her face hidden. On the other hand, once they start putting her out there it could spark demand for more. Dylan's glad he has Mitch to figure this out with. He's not sure what he'd do if he was on his own.

Aiden wakes up before Mitch calls back, and Dylan's happy to scoop her up. This part he knows how to do. He gets her changed, and just finishes feeding and burping her before Mitch FaceTimes him.

Dylan answers the call, and Mitch's smiling face fills the screen. "Hi Dyl! Hi Aiden! How's my precious?"

Aiden coos and turns her head towards the phone, giving it a gummy smile.

Mitch sighs. "It's always so much better live. The pictures are great, don't get me wrong, but. Aiden."

Dylan raises one of her hands and waves it at the camera. "Hi, Daddy! We miss you too."

"Ahh, you got me!" Mitch clutches his chest and falls over onto his hotel bed, the background tilting behind him.

Aiden giggles, reaching towards the phone.

Dylan lets them have their love fest for a while, because it makes all three of them happy. Eventually, though, he reaches out to grab one of Aiden's stuffed animals. Dropping it into her lap distracts her pretty well, so the adults can talk.

"Okay, so, the promo," Dylan starts. "I already told them we don't want to show her face. And I want you to be there the first time she goes on the ice, so we can rule that out too."

"They did a pretty good job of keeping her out of it, actually," Mitch says. "Like, it's mostly just... baby things in general. I think the only scene she would actually be in is the last one, and that's definitely one you can hide her face in."

"Yeah, I think they're planning to just use her car seat with a pile of blankets," Dylan observes.

"I mean, I'm okay with it if you are," Mitch says. "Did you have any other thoughts on it?"

Dylan shrugs. "It's a little weird that she's getting media requests so early, but maybe she's just trying to beat you at your own game." Mitch gave the most adorable four-year-old hockey interview ever.

Mitch laughs. "Hey, she can do whatever she wants."

Right on cue Aiden gets into a fierce battle with her stuffed animal, bending herself in half so she can kick it and chew it at the same time. Dylan tilts the phone down so Mitch can see.

Mitch cracks up. "You need to send her to the penalty crib."

"Two hours for Papa's peace of mind," Dylan says, bouncing her a little.

Aiden squeaks indignantly and pinwheels her legs.

"I know, but you have to get it all out now so tonight's game isn't a disaster," Dylan tells her.

Mitch laughs softly. "Good luck with that."

Dylan pokes his tongue out at him. "I'm supposed to be the cynic in this relationship."

"What can I say?" Mitch says, sighing dramatically. "Parenthood has changed me."

Aiden blows a loud raspberry. She's not buying it, either.

"Everybody's gotta be a critic," Mitch sighs, grinning at them. "I should go. Team dinner is soon."

"Yeah, Aiden and I have some important tummy time to get to," Dylan replies. "Goodnight, babe."

"I love you," Mitch says. "Give baby girl a kiss from Daddy, okay?"

"Of course," Dylan promises, bending down and risking getting hit in the eye to kiss her on the forehead. She hits his nose with her forehead, because of course she does, but he manages to land one. "We'll see you on Sunday, okay? Beat the Habs."

"Tell Ryan to beat the Pens," Mitch replies, and ends the call.

Dylan snorts. They're kind of terrible at goodbyes, but that's not news. Besides, he needs to call Kelly back and tell her they're on, and then he and Aiden have a date with tummy time.

-0-

They head to the practice rink the next morning ready to film the promo. Or, more accurately, Dylan and Aiden are going to watch for most of the morning while the camera crew works with Ryan and a couple of the other guys, and then they'll get their little moment to shine. Kelly's left him with her iPhone, so he can record Aiden crying if she kicks off. They need it as part of the first segment: "how much noise does it make?" It's Aiden crying up against the sound of Ryan firing off a slapshot, and Ryan doesn't stand a chance.

Ryan does a few takes until they're satisfied, then it's on to the next segment. Ryan comes over to retrieve the baby carrier, which is piled high with blankets and nothing else, and Chimera joins him on the ice. It's hilarious to watch Chimera fire at the net, then watch Ryan struggle to push Aiden's seat down the ice with his stick, but "can you score a goal with it" is number two.

"It's hard to push!" Ryan yells after the carrier goes spinning lazily off his stick.

"Tell me about it!" Dylan tells back.

Chimera says something, and Ryan goes bright red. Dylan makes a mental note to high-five him later.

Ryan's still blushing when he brings back the carrier and sets it up on the boards, next to a huge pile of pucks. He pushes all of the baby blankets back in from where they'd mostly fallen out of the carrier, and number three: "are there a ton of them on the boards before practice?" is a go.

Dylan bites his lip while Ryan fakes confusion, and makes helpless gestures at Chimera. The cameraperson calls cut and tells them to start again, and just as they start rolling, Aiden starts whining.

"That's my cue," Dylan mutters, picking up the iPhone and heading to the locker room so he can get clean audio. By the time he gets there, she's nearing full riot mode. Dylan holds the phone right next to her and records for ten seconds, then shuts it off and uncaps the bottle he'd grabbed on his way.

Aiden scowls at him as she latches on, eating angrily as she tries to figure how Dylan _dared_ to make her wait five whole minutes.

"I know, I know, I'm the worst," he murmurs, wiping at her face.

Ladd chooses that moment to walk in. "Hey, how's our newest mascot? Do I get to hold her this time?"

"If she's in a good mood after we're done filming," Dylan promises.

Ladd beams, and they talk about last night's game for a while until the cameras are ready for them and segment number four: "does it stink up the locker room?"

Aiden's actually clean and dry when they start the segment, so Dylan asks them to shoot the other part first. She'll pee soon enough, and Dylan would really rather that not get caught on tape. 

He watches as Ladd approaches another pile of pucks, lip curled in disgust. He holds his stick out, leaning away from it, and lowers it behind the pucks like a fishing pole. " _This_ is how you haze the new guy?" Ladd says, lifting an old, crusty jock strap into view.

Dylan grimaces and covers Aiden's face. He doesn't really want her smelling that.

Ladd reels back and flings it off his stick, towards the trash can. He makes it without even hitting the rim, and after the cameraperson calls cut, Ryan breaks out the golf claps.

Ladd turns to Ryan and grins. "You're up next."

"I'm not even sure how grossed out I can pretend to be," Ryan says. "Man, I was there for the black goop stage."

Ladd cracks up laughing. "Just wait until she starts eating solid food."

"Oh, joy," Dylan says dryly. "Are we ready?"

Aiden starts wriggling. There are too many people here not paying attention to her.

Ryan walks over and pokes her palm until she grabs his finger. "We're almost done, sweetie," he says. "And then Uncle Ryan has plans for this afternoon, okay? We're gonna have fun."

Dylan sends up a prayer to the hockey gods that Aiden doesn't choose this moment for a massive blowout. Even if it would probably get a good horrified face from Ryan.

Ryan lays the changing mat down on the bench, and they wait a minute for the cameras to roll. Dylan isn't laying her down until the last minute, thanks; he already has enough audio of her yelling.

"Okay, we're set," the cameraperson says. They're angled so all they can see is Dylan and Ryan leaning over, and possibly Aiden's feet, if she gets kicky.

"Showtime," Dylan murmurs, and he gets to work.

Predictably, Aiden starts protesting as soon as he puts her down. Dylan makes soothing noises as he undoes her onesie, then pulls her diaper open.

"What is that?" Ryan exclaims.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "It's a baby."

"No," Ryan says, reaching out like he's going to point.

Dylan slaps at his hand. "Don't touch it!"

Really, it's just a standard wet diaper, but you definitely can't tell that from the grossed-out look on Ryan's face. He's probably reliving the umbilical incident. Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan can see Ladd trying not to crack up and ruin the shot.

Dylan changes Aiden quickly, wrapping the wipe into the used diaper and presenting it to Ryan. "Hey, throw this out for me?"

Ryan brings his stick into shot and they call cut.

"No, seriously," Dylan says, wiggling the diaper. "I need to dress her before she starts doing her fire alarm thing."

"Can I?" Ladd asks, stepping forward.

"Sure," Dylan says. He waits until Ladd has a hand on Aiden before walking to the garbage can. She's not supposed to figure out rolling over for another four or five months, but he'd still rather be safe than sorry.

"I need a clean one for the next clip," Ryan says. He's standing right next to the diaper bag, but it's nice that he asked first.

"Just grab it," Dylan says, gesturing. "I'm gonna go wash my hands." He keeps hand sanitiser in the diaper bag, but it's just not the same. He still knows when his hands have a coating of pee.

By the time he gets back, Ladd is holding a content-looking, fully-dressed Aiden, and the camera crew is trained on Ryan as he lowers the diaper into the garbage with his stick. Dylan waits until they call cut and then starts up a golf clap of his own. Ryan bows with a flourish, and Ladd waves one of Aiden's hands in the air.

Kelly shakes her head at all of them. "We're almost done."

Dylan makes grabby hands. "Time for Uncle Ryan's favourite thing," he says as Ladd hands Aiden back over. "Music time, baby girl."

Ryan leaves the room in a hurry as Dylan starts singing. Kelly just lets him go for a few minutes, walking Aiden around the locker room and singing to her.

It's the fifth and final segment of _is it a baby or is it a puck_ : "do you sing lullabies to it?"

Dylan grins as Halak walks in. He waves, then heads to his stall to pull on his full goalie gear. It takes him a few minutes, but before long he's got a thin receiving blanket draped over his glove, and there's a single puck sitting in it. Halak pets it carefully with his fingertip, so it won't tip over. He opens his mouth and starts singing something soft and sweet-sounding in Slovak, raising the puck up to eye level, then nuzzling his glove against his cheek as he sings.

The cameras roll for a really long time, getting all kinds of angles on Halak acting like a goalie. It's hilarious to watch; either Halak is actually a good actor, or he's even extra-goalie.

"Okay guys, I think we have what we need," Kelly says finally.

"Night night, little puck," Halak says, tapping it before putting it down and starting to strip out of his gear.

Ladd grins and comes over to pat Aiden on the back. "Night night, little puck," he echoes.

"You guys know I said _speck_ , right?" he asks, just to be sure.

Halak frowns. "That doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't make sense for me to call her a hockey puck, either," Dylan points out.

"She's small, she's cute," Halak says, shrugging. "Makes more sense than _speck_."

"She's not a speck in her dad's eye anymore," Ladd chimes in.

Ryan grimaces. "Yuck."

Halak points to himself. "That's not my name."

Aiden makes a snuffling noise, and they all stop their squabbling to peer at her. She gives a squeaky, high-pitched yawn.

"Hockey players put her right to sleep," Dylan says proudly.

"On that note," Ryan says, gazing adoringly at Aiden, "it's time for Uncle Ryan and Papa to eat while she takes a little snooze, and then we're going _shopping_."


	33. Chapter 33

Ryan takes them to a nutritionist-approved place near the rink, and then searches oh his phone for the nearest Babies'R'Us. It's a twenty-minute drive, and Ryan looks way too excited the entire way there.

"You know we can't stay there all day, right?" Dylan asks, dubious. "Aiden's chill, but not that chill."

"I know," Ryan says, sighing as he parks the car. "But we can stay until she starts getting cranky, right? She likes car-sleeping."

Dylan scowls. "We can stay until I decide she's had enough. There is such a thing as overtired."

"Okay," Ryan says, holding his hands up in surrender. "They have carts here where you can secure her car seat in, so she can stay in her own comfy seat."

Aiden blows a loud raspberry, so Dylan can only assume she likes the idea.

"Let's do this," Dylan says, getting out. "You go get a cart while I get her."

Aiden breaks into a chorus of chatter as soon as she sees Dylan's face, because apparently twenty minutes is way too long.

Dylan has to agree. "I know," he says as he pulls her out, seat and all. "We can do tummy time later, okay? Something tells me Uncle Ryan is gonna get you a bunch of toys that we can play with later."

Aiden gives him a gummy smile. Yeah, this is going to be great.

Ryan pulls the cart up and supervises as Dylan puts Aiden's seat in the seat spot and buckles it in. "Good to go?" Ryan asks.

"We're ready," Dylan confirms. "Let's shop."

It becomes clear pretty quickly that Ryan's lost his mind. Hopefully he left it at home, somewhere in the apartment. At least if it's there it means he won't go online later and order all the stuff Dylan's taking out of the cart. "She doesn't need this many socks," Dylan says. "Ryan. She doesn't need clothes here at all yet. She's gonna be a lot bigger by the time we move down here."

"Oh." Ryan blinks, like it honestly hadn't occurred to him Aiden's going to grow in the next couple of months.

"So we can just skip the whole clothes section," Dylan adds. "Right?"

"I guess so," Ryan says reluctantly, but he's still eyeing up a dinosaur shirt. To be fair, it's kind of awesome.

"Okay, that one we can get," Dylan allows. She has plenty of shirts, really, but _dinosaur_.

Ryan beams. "We should get it in a couple of sizes, so she can always be dino-chic."

"We can get one for now and one for when she's here. She doesn't need all the ones in between," Dylan compromises. He doesn't need to explain why he's got four of the same shirt to Mitch when he gets home.

Ryan's poker face is terrible, and Dylan has a feeling he's going to mysteriously end up doing it anyway. Ryan holds one up in front of Aiden. "What do you think, sweetie? Do you like the dinosaur shirt?"

Aiden gives him fish face.

"That means yes," Ryan decides. "She needs it."

"She needs food," Dylan corrects.

"Also food," Ryan says, putting the shirt in the cart. "Okay, I'll push the cart while you feed her?"

Aiden's perfectly okay with that arrangement. She's okay with most things if it means she gets to eat. Dylan does his best to monitor how much stuff Ryan is chucking into the cart, but Aiden grunts at him if he doesn't pay attention to her while she's inhaling her bottle. "Don't make me change your nickname to warthog," he says, wiping a milk dribble from her cheek.

"Cutest warthog," Ryan says instantly, then frowns. "Yeah, no. I mean, totally cutest warthog, but... no."

Dylan trails after Ryan, arguing with him over diapers ("don't bother, she'll grow out of those, too") to furniture ("she won't need it for months, so let's wait"). The only thing Ryan really puts his foot down on is a crib. "She's my guest! She should get her own bed."

"She's been fine in the playpen," Dylan points out. "It's only one more night. She'll be fine."

"But she should have a bed," Ryan says stubbornly. "She's not gonna grow out of it before she moves in. She can't use the dresser tonight, okay, I get that, but she could use the crib."

Dylan shakes his head. "Nothing's gonna stop you, is it?"

"There's no reason _not_ to get it now, not when she could get a night out of it," Ryan replies. "I get waiting on the clothes and the changing table and all that stuff, but she can use it tonight, Dyls. She can have a real place to sleep in her other house."

Aiden wriggles and coos. "See?" Ryan says. "She's on my side."

"Traitor baby," Dylan says, poking her in the belly. She giggles up at him and tries to stick her entire fist in her mouth.

"Best baby," Ryan counters.

"Come hold her while I look at the cribs," Dylan says, sighing.

Ryan makes grabby hands. "Yay cribs!"

Aiden settles right in, yawning against his neck. It's pretty damn adorable.

There are a ton on display, and of course, none of them are the one they have for her back in Toronto. Dylan pulls his phone out, preparing to do some research.

Ryan wanders over and looks at one of them. "Huh," he says. "This one says that it converts into a toddler bed when she gets too big for the crib."

Dylan bites his lip. "Is she allowed to get that big?" She's his _baby_.

"No," Ryan says firmly. "She's gonna stay this little, but just in case a toddler shows up, we'd have a place to put them."

"Okay, good. I'm glad we agree." After a few minutes, Dylan nods. "It's got good ratings," he says, looking at his phone. "And there's a whole matching furniture set, for when we're ready to get all of that." He shows Ryan his phone.

"I think we've found its forever home." Ryan looks way too pleased with himself.

"You're putting it together," Dylan tells him.

"I'm not worried," Ryan says confidently. "I can get it together, no problem."

Dylan snorts. Time will tell if Ryan or the crib wins.

Ryan ends up ordering the entire furniture set to be delivered later on, with the exception of the crib, which they're faced with loading into Ryan's SUV.

"Uh. Maybe I should take a taxi back with Aiden," Dylan suggests. He's not sure how else they'll wedge everything in.

"Um," Ryan says a little sheepishly. "Just... hang out a minute, okay? I called in reinforcements."

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Dylan spies a pickup truck making its way slowly up and down each row of parked cars, clearly looking for someone. He throws his arm up and the truck makes its way over, pulling to a stop with a grinning Boych in the front seat. "Heard you need some transport help," he says.

" _Someone_ couldn't possibly let Aiden sleep in her playpen even one more night," Dylan says dryly.

Boychuk shakes his head. "Oh man, you're whipped. You should break that before she gets older."

"Any tips on that?" Dylan asks hopefully.

"I consider it a good day if they're both asleep at the same time."

"That's a no," Dylan says, sighing. "Okay, well. I'll get her in the car while you guys wrestle with the box."

Aiden turns out to be a lot easier to wrangle than her crib, which should be impossible. In a matchup of baby vs inanimate object, tired baby should win easily. She's already in her seat, which is probably why it's not more of a nightmare. Dylan finishes strapping her in and heads to the other side so he can load the bags.

There are a lot of bags. More bags than Dylan thought they had when they left the store. Did Ryan sneak back inside while Dylan was busy?

"Ryan," he asks suspiciously, peering into one of the bags. "How many dinosaur shirts did you buy?"

Ryan tries to paste on an innocent face. "One in each colour."

Dylan pulls out one of the shirts and puts the bag in the car. "This is a 2T. She won't be able to wear this for, like, 18 months."

"... and each size," Ryan adds sheepishly.

Dylan just stares at him, holding the shirt up.

"This way she can pick if she wants to be an orange dinosaur or a teal one!" Ryan says. "Choices are good for kids, I read it online."

Boychuk starts laughing, leaning on his truck for support. "Yeah, you need to break him of that habit before she learns to ask for things," he says, wheezing a little. "I don't know where you'd even put a pony in Brooklyn."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "I know who'd be in charge of shovelling shit."

"The stable guy Ryan would hire," Boychuk agrees. "Oh, man, what are you even going to do with all those shirts?"

"That's Ryan's problem," Dylan replied. "I'm only packing the ones that fit."

"We could go back in and get the dresser," Ryan says brightly.

" _You_ can go back and get the dresser," Dylan corrects. "I'm going to put my kid down for a nap."

Aiden chooses that moment to start crying, and Ryan's whole face melts as he dashes for the driver's seat. "Oh my god, let's get her home."

Boychuk catches Dylan's eye and grins. "Amateur."

"Tell me about it," Dylan complains.

"I'll see you over there," Boychuk says, climbing into his truck. "Hope she sleeps on the way back."

"Dreams are free," Dylan replies, and waves goodbye.

-0-

Thankfully, Aiden does fall asleep on the ride home. In the interests of keeping it that way, Dylan kicks Ryan out of the car when they get back, so he and Boychuk can wrangle the crib box upstairs without waking her. Dylan can drive a few times around the block in the name of keeping the peace. On one of his loops he notices a Dunkin' Donuts. Aiden's snoring, so he can probably get away with placing a delivery order. Because he's the best brother, he gets enough to share with Ryan, too.

Dylan orders through the app, goes to the apartment and unloads Aiden, and by the time he gets upstairs coffee and donuts are waiting. Ryan looks at him like he's a magician. "If Dunkin appears wherever you go, man, then I'm extra-happy you're moving in," he says.

Dylan waves his phone. "It's okay to ask for help, Ryan."

"I did!" Ryan says. "I called Boych for help get the crib here, and I called for backup on assembly, too."

"Is it someone we have to tidy up for?" Dylan asks suspiciously, because he doesn't want his new teammates to think he's a slob.

"Nah," JT answers, wandering out of Aiden's room. "I mean, I lived with him for a while. I know what it's like." He waves. "How's she doing today?"

Dylan laughs. He should've known it would be JT. "She's good. Made it through her first taste of stardom, and then she ganged up on me with Ryan at Babies'R'Us."

"With Ryan?" JT asks, giving Ryan a look. "What did they make you do?"

Ryan ducks his head, blushing.

"Well, I mean, I told him to wait on the crib," Dylan says. "And did he not tell you about Aiden's new collection of dinosaur shirts?"

JT shakes his head. Oh man, this is going to be good.

Dylan sets down Aiden's carrier, unstraps her, and scoops her up. "I'd show you, but I've got my hands full."

"I can hold her," Ryan says eagerly.

"Or," Dylan says, "you can go get your shirt collection from the car." Aiden's sleepy and snuggly; like hell is Dylan letting anyone else steal her right now. Also, Ryan's shirts are definitely Ryan's problem.

Dylan goes into Ryan's room so Aiden can have some peace and quiet to decide if she's going to keep napping a little longer or wake up and say hi to JT. She's definitely fighting going back to sleep, but Dylan rocks her a little and sings mindlessly, and eventually she gives up and closes her eyes. She starts making the snuffly breathing noises that always seem to accompany baby REM cycles; Dylan feels like a fucking rock star.

"Go me," he singsongs softly, bending slowly to put her in the middle of Ryan's bed. He doesn't have as many pillows to box her in as Dylan does, but Dylan makes do anyway. He steps back and holds his breath, but she doesn't wake up.

"Magic," Dylan whispers, tiptoeing out of the room. He leaves the door open a crack, since they don't have a baby monitor.

JT is holding one of the shopping bags, both eyebrows raised as Ryan pulls out shirt after shirt. "Who's that one for?" JT asks as Ryan holds up the biggest one.

"Future Aiden," Ryan says, as if that should be obvious.

JT raises both eyebrows. "How far in the future? Kindergarten?"

"She should always have a dinosaur shirt," Ryan says patiently. "This way she will."

JT pulls an indescribable face and drops the bag he's holding. Dylan's pretty sure there's about to be kissing. Sure enough, JT reaches out, and before Dylan can retreat to the safety of the bedroom, they're kissing softly in the kitchen. It's kind of sweet, except Dylan has no desire to be witnessing this. He grabs the bag of dinosaur shirts so he has an excuse to be somewhere else.

The rustling of the bag makes them spring apart like they've been caught doing much worse than kissing in the privacy of Ryan's apartment. "Uh," Ryan says, beet red.

"Not used to having an audience," Dylan observes. "I get it." He and Mitch are probably going to have the same problem when Connor and Nuge move back in over the summer.

"I'll, um," JT says. There's colour high on his cheeks, too. "We should get the crib put together. I'll go unpack all the pieces." He vanishes into Aiden's room like a ghost.

Dylan says nothing, but Ryan squirms anyway. "He comes over sometimes."

"I know," Dylan says patiently. "We talked about this, remember? No sex where the other person could see it. That wasn't even making out, Ryan. It's fine." Ryan bites his lip like there's something else he really wants to say, but he needs permission. Dylan refuses to think about how that works in his relationship with JT. "What?" he finally asks, sighing.

"Just, not living together is—" Ryan pauses and leans forward, lowering his voice for Dylan's ears only. "It's kinda hot."

"Okay," Dylan says as loudly as he dares with Aiden sleeping. "Good talk! I'm gonna go build a crib." Dylan doesn't want to talk about sex. Dylan doesn't want to _think_ about sex. Because he isn't having any. It's definitely a thing he wants to bring up when he gets home, though. If he's healed enough that the Isles want him starting rehab with a trainer, then he's healed enough for sex. Maybe not the super athletic kind, but he's ready. Mitch has been very patient and understanding, and Dylan wants to jump him. That's a talk for when he gets home, though. Now he's got a crib to help build.

JT stares at his hands when Dylan comes into the room.

"Oh my god, it's fine," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "It's not like I didn't know, and you _definitely_ know you're not doing anything I haven't done."

"I just don't want to make it weird," JT says. "Especially since you're leaving tomorrow."

"How about if I promise that at some point you're gonna walk in on me kissing Mitch?" Dylan says dryly. "Because I'm gonna be living here, and the rule is no sex in common rooms, not no kissing."

The tips of JT's ears turn red; they've probably already broken that rule, then. Dylan pretends he doesn't notice and picks up the instructions. "You did the crib in Toronto, too," he says. "That makes you the expert. What are we doing here?"

"Okay, first we need to count all the pieces to make sure there's nothing missing," JT says. "Otherwise we'll have to call the store. I'm not putting Aiden in this thing if there's a bolt missing."

"I'm with you on that," Dylan agrees. "I'll start counting."

Ryan joins them once he's gotten his shit together. JT is very no-nonsense when it comes to crib assembly; it goes pretty smoothly, even if Dylan does have to leave before it's totally finished because Aiden wakes up. She's a little clingier than usual, maybe because she spent so much time this morning more than five feet away from him. Dylan's sure not gonna complain, not when she just wants to be held. He can do that.

"What do you think, should I swaddle you with one of Papa's gross t-shirts later?" he teases.

She coos and blows a spit bubble against his neck.

Dylan's in this so deep he doesn't even care. It's just drool, not puke. "Do you want to call Daddy and wish him luck?"

She squeaks and bats her fist against his cheek. That's a definite yes.

Dylan sits down on the bed, bracing her with one hand and reaching for his phone to text Mitch. _u free?_

_give me a few, on the way to the hotel,_ Mitch replies.

Dylan makes himself comfortable, arranging Aiden in his lap. There's a pre-made bottle in the kitchen, and she's dry for now. All he has to do is wait. "Daddy's gonna be a minute," Dylan tells Aiden. "Wanna listen to some tunes?"

"Oooooo," she says.

"That's right, tuuuuuuuunes," he says, "What a smart baby you are."

Dylan scrolls through his playlists until he gets to Adele. He hadn't been allowed to listen to her for a while, because hormones plus sad songs about breakups equals crying at midnight. He's probably safe now, though. He's just hit play and started bouncing Aiden to the beat when his phone rings, cutting the music off.

Mitch's face fills the screen and Dylan gets a brilliant idea.

"Hello from the other side," he sings, waving one of Aiden's hands at the phone.

"Oh my god, you did not call just to serenade me," Mitch says, horrified.

"I must have called a thousand times," Dylan goes on.

Aiden pipes up, yelling tunelessly along with him.

Mitch's horrified expression melts instantly. "Oh my god, that's adorable. She's singing!"

Dylan tilts the phone down so Mitch can see her. "We wanted to wish you good luck for tonight, but Aiden had an ear worm."

"Sure, blame the baby," Mitch says, laughing.

She yells again and slaps at the phone.

"Thanks, Aiden, I'll definitely try to line up a slapshot."

She giggles and coos. Mitch is grinning helplessly, and Dylan knows his own face isn't any better. It's great to be able to make Mitch smile, with the season he's having.

"Hey, so," Mitch says after they both just stare adoringly at Aiden for a little while. "A couple of the guys wanted to come over, meet her, meet you. Would you be okay with that?"

"Of course, babe. As long as I don't have to do anything except keep Aiden looking cute," Dylan adds, picking her up and squishing her cheek up against his.

"You get the easiest job in the world, then," Mitch says. "I figured I'd just call and have a bunch of food delivered? And then have someone come around to clean up after."

Dylan beams. "A+ husbanding."

"I try," Mitch says, smiling back. "Hey, I gotta get ready to go. Thanks for singing to me, babe."

"See you soon," Dylan replies, waving Aiden's hand at the screen.

Once he ends the call, he tucks Aiden against his chest and stands. "Uncle Ryan and Uncle John are being really quiet," he tells her. "We should see if they got your crib together, or if they abandoned the project to have sloppy makeouts." If they are, Dylan intends to hold it over their heads approximately forever.

Aiden smacks her lips together and frowns, and Dylan smiles. "Yeah, exactly."

He and Aiden are an awesome team, and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

-0-

Dylan wakes up later than normal because Aiden doesn't wake him up. He panics for a moment, but when he runs out of his room, he figures out it's because Ryan is walking around the living room with her in his arms.

"JT's making coffee," Ryan says when he sees the look on Dylan's face.

"Oh god," Dylan says, bolting for the kitchen.

He finds JT staring at the coffee maker, which against all odds is actually producing coffee. "One button," JT explains when he notices Dylan.

"Good plan," Dylan says approvingly. "You, uh. You're up early."

"Ryan wanted to say goodbye properly."

"Yeah, I figured that would happen," Dylan says, raising an eyebrow at JT. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I kind of figured you'd sleep in."

JT grins. "He brought me coffee in bed. Who says no to that?"

"You two are kinda gross, and I can't wait to get my revenge," Dylan informs him, grinning.

"It's good," JT replied, still soft and sleepy. "I think we're good."

"I'm glad," Dylan says. "I really am." He hesitates a little. "I, uh. I was a little worried that Aiden and I being in Ryan's space would be... not good."

"What are you talking about? She's the best."

"Well, yeah," Dylan says. "But that doesn't mean you want to spend a bunch of time with your boyfriend's live-in baby niece."

JT's quiet for a while, concentrating on getting his coffee just right. When he speaks up he's almost inaudible. "I'd never want to get between Ryan and his family. He cares about you and Matt more than you can imagine."

"I know," Dylan says. "Trust me, I know. But I feel like I need to say the same thing to you, too."

"I wouldn't be with him if I couldn't handle not coming first sometimes," JT points out.

"And he wouldn't be with you if he didn't think you deserved to come first most of the time," Dylan says. "I'm glad it's working with you guys, I really am. I just... you have the ability to hurt him a lot, and I don't think you will, but I hope you know that."

JT nods. "I know I have to be careful. And I don't want to hurt Aiden, either."

"Well, we're on the same page, then," Dylan says, fixing his own coffee. "Let's go rescue Ryan, eh?"

Ryan doesn't especially want to be rescued, but his shirt is soaked in drool and spit-up. Dylan takes Aiden, and JT hands Ryan his coffee and brushes a kiss against his hair. That's true love; Ryan's hair is gross before a shower. It's a preview of what things might be like if—when—Dylan makes the team.

"I'm gonna get the two of us dressed," Dylan says, heading for Aiden's room. "We'll have time for more cuddles after, don't worry."

JT beams, so it was clearly the right thing to say.

Dylan doesn't hesitate before putting Aiden into one of her numerous new dinosaur shirts. He told Ryan he's leaving all the too-big ones here, but he's almost positive he's gonna get a box in the mail in a week or so. "Okay, that's damn cute," he says out loud when he's done.

Aiden pats her own tummy and gurgles at him.

"Shh, don't tell Uncle Ryan I said that."

He carries her into his room and puts her on the bed while he changes out of his pajamas. She's starting to get good at lifting her head up for short periods of time, a skill she's now using to investigate one of the brightly-coloured toys Ryan had purchased during yesterday's shopping trip. Ryan's campaign to spoil her rotten is working too well.

"We need to talk Uncle Ryan out of buying you all the things," Dylan says as he picks her back up. She whines and flings her hand out towards the set of plastic keys she'd been looking at, and Dylan sighs and he picks them up and puts them on her chest. "This isn't gonna help our case, baby girl."

The look on Ryan's face when he sees her is almost worth the insane shopping, though. He's not smug like Dylan thought he'd be; he almost looks like he's going to cry.

"It's a baby dino," Dylan says softly, leaning down to nestle her in Ryan's arms. "And some keys. She didn't want to leave them in the playpen."

"Hi, baby dino," Ryan says softly. "I'm gonna miss you."

"We'll Skype," Dylan promises. "And you're coming home for Christmas, right? You can see her then."

Ryan shrugs. "Yeah, but it'll be better when you're here all the time."

Dylan smiles a little. "Eh. We'll see."

JT catches Dylan's gaze over Ryan's shoulder and shakes his head, grinning. Ryan loves people 110% and they both know it.

"Can you chill with her while I finish packing us up?" Dylan asks, already knowing the answer.

"Come on, dino girl," Ryan says, bouncing her in his arms.

Dylan leaves them playing keepaway with JT and heads into Aiden's room. Hopefully it won't take him too long to pack up. He eyes the pile of dino shirts. They really are cute; maybe he can just take the ones that fit and one size up. That will absolutely fit in the suitcase. Mitch is going to laugh himself sick when he gets home. And he'll probably want to put Aiden in the biggest one for pictures. Whatever; their daughter is sometimes a dinosaur, and he's just going to have to deal.

Dylan packs up Aiden's stuff, restocks the diaper bag, and double checks he hasn't forgotten any tiny socks. He doesn't find any when he looks, but he's resigned himself to having a mismatch when he gets home anyway. Baby socks disappear; it's just something he's come to accept. Maybe there's a whole dimension for baby accessories. 

On second thought, maybe it's a good thing Ryan got up early with Aiden, even if it did almost give Dylan a heart attack. He shakes his head. Clearly he needs more sleep. Back home, where there's a baby monitor he can turn up to 11, so he can hear everything in Aiden's room. Back home, where he can wake up next to Mitch.

He hurries into his own room and throws everything into his suitcase without bothering to fold it. It's all dirty anyway, so there's really no point. If he forgets anything it doesn't matter; Dylan's brain is bigger than an almost-seven-week-old baby's, and he won't lose his shit. He's really fond of his object permanence.

"Okay, I think I'm set," Dylan says, lugging his suitcase into the living room. 

Ryan looks up from divebombing Aiden into JT's face. Before he can pull her away, JT pushes Aiden's shirt up and blows a raspberry on her belly. Aiden cracks up laughing and grabs for JT's hair. Ryan beams down at JT like he's the answer to every question ever. Aiden might be their biggest fan right now, but Dylan's starting to think he comes in a close second. He sneaks his phone out of his pocket; Matt won't believe this without proof.

He hopes they get to have this for themselves somehow. He's not sure about JT, but the fact that Ryan's G-negative means they'll have to look elsewhere anyway. But then, with the way JT looks at Aiden, it doesn't seem like genetics matters much.

"Okay," he says after he's got video proof. "I'm gonna load the luggage in the car. We should head out soon, so you might want to consider person pants." Ryan's Isles-snowman pajama pants are hilarious, but they also have a hole way too near his junk to be worn in public.

Ryan hands Aiden to JT, and she's still laughing when she buries her face in JT's neck.

"I'll keep an eye on her," JT says, sounding for all the world like he'd be content with never moving again. 

Dylan leans over the back of the sofa and ruffles Aiden's hair. "Be good for your uncle."

She yanks at JT's hair.

"Let me talk to you about legal hits," JT says as he starts untangling her hands.

Dylan smiles as he pulls the luggage into the hallway and heads down towards the car. Ryan's definitely in safe hands.

-0-

The flight goes well, which gives Dylan hope that Aiden is just a good flyer in general, and she sleeps in the car on the drive back home. It's almost too good to be true, but Dylan counts his blessings when he manages to get her into the house without waking her up. He might even be able to get _laundry_ done. Wow, what's his life coming to that he's actually excited about laundry?

He's just gotten the first load into the laundry machine when when the garage door opener starts rumbling. "Daddy's home!" Dylan says, before remembering Aiden's asleep in her room. He shakes his head. "I have to stop talking to myself."

He leaves the basket in the laundry room and heads for the garage. Mitch meets him halfway; they're both so tired and overeager that they run straight into each other.

"Hi," Dylan says, grabbing Mitch by the shoulders so he won't fall.

"Hi," Mitch says, putting his arms around Dylan's waist and holding on. "Wow, holy shit, I missed you."

Dylan leans down and kisses him. Mitch doesn't hesitate to kiss him back. They stand there making out in the hallway for a few minutes, until something in the laundry room clangs and they startle apart.

"So," Mitch says, waggling his eyebrows. "Good trip?"

"Good trip," Dylan says, pulling back and grabbing Mitch's hand. It feels a little silly, holding hands in the house, but like hell is Dylan letting go. "They're setting me up with a sports medicine specialist here in Toronto, and they want to do another evaluation after Christmas."

"Wow, it's really happening," Mitch says, squeezing Dylan's hand.

"Also, we need to make sure Ryan and JT don't try to steal our kid," Dylan adds. "Oh my god, do I have a video to show you."

"Show me," Mitch demands, tugging Dylan towards the living room. "I live for cute videos with Aiden in them."

Dylan makes him sit down, because this video is maximum cute. He pulls up the video from this morning and holds his hand out. "Switch phones with me," he says. "I want to take video of you watching this video."

Mitch rolls his eyes but he hands over his phone. "This had better live up to the hype."

Dylan pulls up the camera app and starts recording. "Okay, go," he directs.

Mitch starts the video, and Ryan's terrible airplane noises fill the room.

"Oh no, baby crash!" JT says, clearly smiling.

"Dorks," Mitch says.

Dylan holds his breath, waiting for it.

There's the unmistakable sound of JT blowing a raspberry, and then Aiden's shrieking little giggle. Mitch sucks in a sharp breath.

"Okay, one more time," Ryan says when everybody manages to stop laughing along with her. "Ready for takeoff, Uncle John?"

"Braced for impact," JT replies.

"Oh my god," Mitch whispers, as Ryan's airplane sounds start up again.

Aiden knows what's coming this time, so she starts laughing before JT gets to her. JT's raspberry noises are broken up, because he's laughing too much to keep his lips together in proper raspberry formation.

Mitch stares, spellbound. "They love her _so much_."

"I had to pry her out of JT's arms so Ryan could say goodbye," Dylan says as the video ends. "And then I had to pry her out of Ryan's arms so I could go into the airport."

Mitch sets the phone down and wipes his eyes. "She looks happy."

"They do love her," Dylan says, hitting stop on the recording. "We're gonna be okay down there. We're gonna miss you like I can't even imagine, but I think we're gonna be okay."

"Is it terrible that I kinda _want_ her to miss me?" Mitch asks, biting his lip.

"I get it," Dylan replies, putting the phone down and reaching to pull Mitch into a sideways hug. "If she misses you, it means she remembers you. But there's no way she'll forget."

Mitch tries for a smile. "At least you're not going to Arizona."

"I'm definitely not," Dylan says, pressing a kiss to Mitch's hair. "We'll figure it out. Lots of visits."

"And lots of videos," Mitch adds. He turns his face to Dylan's neck and burrows close, just like Aiden when she's sleepy and clingy.

"All the time," Dylan promises. "Hey, so. She's probably gonna wake up soon. Wanna go upstairs and see her?"

"Always." Mitch sits up and holds his hand out to Dylan. "The lady awaits."

Aiden snuggles right up to Mitch when he picks her up, and he beams at Dylan. "Still got it."

Dylan wraps his arms around them both. Sometimes it's really nice having hockey arms. "Like I said, we missed you."

Aiden makes fish face, and Mitch snorts a little. "She's awake, so she's hungry," he says. "Okay, sweetie. Daddy'll get you a bottle."

Dylan kisses the side of Mitch's head. "Best dad, A+ would drool on again," he teases.

"I absolutely believe that," Mitch says, laughing as they head down to the kitchen. "Again and again and again."

It's a good day—actually, a great day. Just Dylan and Mitch and Aiden, being lazy together all afternoon. She's totally zen now that she has her two favourite people within arm's reach. Dylan takes some good video of Aiden and Mitch having tummy time together, and he gets in a good chirp about her almost being taller than Mitch already.

She drops off to sleep without fighting it too much; apparently travel is super tiring. "Bets on how long before she's hungry again?" Mitch says quietly as they leave the nursery.

"I'm not taking any bets on that," Dylan snorts. "She's always hungry."

Mitch grins. "So are you."

Dylan pokes him in the ribs. "I could take a bite out of you; see how hilarious you are then."

"Now we know where she gets her bear qualities from," Mitch says.

Dylan slings an arm around Mitch's shoulders so he can't get away, and then he leans down to nip Mitch's ear lobe. "Got you."

Mitch leans back into him. "Like that was in doubt."

"The question is, what do I do with you now?"

"I don't know," Mitch says. "Any, uh, news on that front?" He sounds hopeful.

Dylan kisses him, soft and slow, and then pulls back. "Let's go somewhere comfortable for that conversation."

"Bedroom?" Mitch asks.

"Bedroom." It's still a novelty to share a room with Mitch and not have to worry about anyone busting in to prank them, and Dylan intends to make the most of it whenever he can.

"So," Mitch says when they reach the bedroom. He sits on the bed and pats the spot beside him. "Did you actually talk to the Isles' training staff about sex?"

Dylan nods. "I actually did. They wanted to know how recovery's going, and what I want to do for birth control." There's a bunch of options, he just hadn't thought he needed them. And now he has to weigh the various side effects against getting back in hockey shape.

"That makes sense," Mitch says, nodding. "How'd it go?"

"Well enough that they cleared me for light training."

"Yeah, you said they were setting you up with somebody up here," Mitch says. "Any news on the 'can I sex up my husband' front?"

Dylan takes Mitch's hand, suddenly nervous. It's ridiculous; they've seen each other naked hundreds of times. "I mean, the incision's still healing on the inside, so I'm not up for anything super athletic," he says. "And, like. It's super not sexy."

Mitch squeezes his hand. "We're super married, though, because I love you super a lot."

Dylan laughs and bumps their shoulders together. "The trainers didn't give me a list or anything, but they basically said that whatever I'm comfortable with should be fine by this point."

"So we take it slow," Mitch says. "Get you back on the ice in a no-contact jersey."

That's the worst metaphor Dylan's ever heard. "I don't want to have sex with you anymore," he says flatly. "That was terrible."

"You love it," Mitch replies. He lets go of Dylan's hand and strips off his shirt. "Besides, if you're going to be shy that just leaves more of the spotlight for me."

Dylan's mouth goes dry. "That could work." Mitch looks amazing; Dylan wants to get his mouth on Mitch's shoulders and mark him up.

"Told you," Mitch says smugly. It's the exact look he had the first time they hooked up, after Dylan spent way too long turning him down.

"Oh my god, shut up," Dylan mutters, giving into temptation and leaning in to lick at Mitch's collarbone.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

-0-

Aiden is whiny and clingy when Mitch lifts her carefully out of her crib in the morning. She shoves her face into his neck and sniffles against his neck.

"Aww, it's okay, I've got you," Mitch says, rocking her.

She whines even more, grabbing at Mitch's shirt.

Mitch frowns. "She feels a little warm. Could you get the thermometer?"

"Shit," Dylan says, feeling his eyes go wide. "Hang on, yeah." The baby thermometer is in the bathroom across the hall from Aiden's room, so it only takes him a minute to get it. He pulls out the little ear thermometer, puts one of the sleeves on it, and pokes it into Aiden's ear. She's not thrilled about it, but Mitch holds her still while Dylan presses the button.

The thermometer beeps and Dylan checks it. "Aw, oh no," he says, smoothing Aiden's hair down.

Mitch frowns. "That doesn't sound good."

"37.5," Dylan says. "Little baby fever for a little baby. I'll call Dr. Hewitt's office."

"I'll change her into something clean and comfy," Mitch says. "Nice clean PJs are good when you don't feel well."

Dylan nods and grabs his phone, heading into the hallway. The phone call is quick; the receptionist tells them to bring her right in. "We're good to go," he says as he walks back into the room.

"I think we're ready to go," Mitch replies. Aiden snorts loudly, her face scrunching up in misery when that doesn't fix anything.

"Poor kiddo," Dylan says sympathetically. "Let's get her over there."

Mitch sits in the back with her when they drive over, which is good because she's making pathetic, heartbreaking noises. "Almost there, baby girl," he says soothingly.

Dylan glances back when he gets to a stoplight, and just happens to catch Mitch picking up one of Aiden's kicky feet and kissing her toes through her sock. She lets out an unhappy little sound, and Mitch looks as upset as Dylan feels. Sharing the freakout is better in some ways, but in other ways it's even worse. Aiden could break Dylan's heart every day and he still wouldn't want to see it happen to Mitch.

"She's gonna be okay," he says a little unsteadily. "It's probably nothing. A little cold."

Mitch nods. "Right. She'll be fine, and we'll take her home and spoil her." It's about as convincing as the pep talk they'd tried to give the team at World Juniors. Which, heh, that's how they got into this whole mess.

"We're only a few minutes away," Dylan says as Aiden breaks into squeaky little sobs. "It's okay, it's okay."

"Ew, her nose is bubbling," Mitch says, closely followed by, " _Ew_ , why didn't I grab a tissue?"

"Wipes in the diaper bag," Dylan says as he pulls into the parking lot.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Mitch grumbles, reaching for the bag.

That means Aiden and her snot are all Dylan's. "Come here, specklet," he says softly. She whines as he picks her up, smearing her snotty face all over his shirt. Dylan heroically doesn't say anything, just heads for the building.

They have to wait for blood tests to be certain, and they have to keep a close eye on her for the next three days, but Dr. Hewitt doesn't think that Aiden's misery is anything to worry about.

Mitch looks like he's ready to pull his hair out, but they're finally sent back home with a "she'll be fine soon, don't worry." By the time they get back into the car, Dylan's more tired than he has been since the first few days after they brought her home. Aiden's making such tragic faces Dylan half wonders if she spent too much time with Uncle Jack. It's definitely getting Mitch to give her anything and everything she wants, though, and once she gets some Baby Tylenol in her for the fever, she pretty much just conks out.

"Do you think it's karma?" Mitch says, cuddling her to his chest. "I ignored her last night."

Dylan blinks. "When?"

"When you decided my pants looked better hanging off the side of the dresser," Mitch says.

Wow, Dylan's married to an idiot. "I don't think sibling rivalry starts this early. I don't think she knew what we were up to, and got sick on purpose." He shrugs. "Besides, if it's anyone's fault it's me."

"Siblings?" Mitch yelps, eye wide. "What the hell are you talking about, _siblings_?"

Aiden whines in her sleep, batting weakly at Mitch's chest.

"She probably got sick because I took her to New York," Dylan says, reaching out to smooth down her hair. "Plane germs."

"She's gonna be fine," Mitch says, rolling his eyes a little. "And it's not like she was never gonna get sick ever in her whole life. Let's go back to this siblings thing. There's no way you're pregnant right now."

Dylan snorts. "Of course not. That’s my point; sibling rivalry definitely doesn't start pre-conception."

"Thank god," Mitch says, shoulders dropping a little. "I mean, obviously you're not, and I'm not, but..."

"Not for a very long time," Dylan says, holding up his pinky finger.

Mitch shifts Aiden's weight so he can reach out and link their fingers together. "Deal."

Pinky-swearing not to knock each other up has to be a new low, but right now Dylan doesn't care. He has one (1) baby to worry about, and that's more than enough. Especially when she's whining softly in her sleep, trying to wriggle herself into a more comfortable position in her miserable state. "Hey, let's make a pillow fort and snuggle," he suggests.

"No chilling," Mitch says firmly.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "I know, you have no chill."

Mitch sticks his tongue out, which really just proves Dylan's point.

"Daddy's a huge dork," Dylan says, leaning down to kiss Aiden on the top of her head. "But I love him anyway."

Mitch is grinning when Dylan looks up at him. "Do I get one too?"

"You got plenty last night." But Dylan leans forward and kisses him anyway. It's possible Mitch isn't the only one who's whipped. Maybe. Dylan will never admit to it out loud, though. Not even on pain of sleep deprivation thanks to his sick kid.

"C'mon, pillow fort," Mitch says, heading for the stairs.

Pillow forts are pretty rad, Dylan thinks as he follows Mitch. But that's another thing he'll never admit out loud.


	34. Chapter 34

The Hurricanes play in Toronto on Tuesday; Noah was going to drop in and meet Aiden, but he's on high germ alert right now, so he sends Dylan a _maybe next time_ text in the middle of the afternoon. A text Dylan only gets to read because Aiden, who refuses to be put down for more than thirty seconds, is snoozing against his chest tucked into a Moby wrap. Dylan is not in any way opposed to wearing his baby if that's what she wants. At least when she's upright she can breathe through her snotty nose.

He tells Mitch that Noah's not coming, and together they arrange with Noah for Mitch to visit him at the hotel afterwards. Noah can still meet Aiden over Skype, and Dylan can ask him about his impending dad-hood, with an assist from Mitch to keep him from running away.

Noah's laughing when the Skype call connects, and Mitch is pouting at his phone. "I'm fun to be around, right?" he whines at Dylan.

"Too much fun," Dylan says, running his hand down Aiden's back. He adds an eyebrow waggle, because Noah's still laughing.

"Aho ran out of here like he was on fire," Mitch says, disgruntled. "Seriously. I walked in, he yelled 'goodbye' really loud, and then he got up and booked it."

"Well, there was that time we were making out in the hall and he had to get past," Dylan points out.

Mitch frowns. "Which time? At the draft?"

"Which time," Noah repeats, cackling.

"No, he wasn't at the draft," Dylan reminds him, ignoring Noah. He pats Aiden's butt through the wrap. "World Juniors."

"Oh." Mitch pauses for a beat, and then his eyes widen. "Oh! Right, yeah, we were kinda... busy."

"Busy," Noah echoes. Dylan's a little worried he's going to get lightheaded if he doesn't breathe soon.

"We fucked a lot," Dylan says bluntly. "And now we have living proof. Speaking of which, d'you wanna say hi, Hanny?"

It makes Noah blush hard, but he grabs Mitch's phone. "Poor sick baby," he coos. "God, she's so _tiny_."

Dylan smiles. "Tiny and full of mucus."

"Well, that's gross," Noah says, leaning back a little bit.

"There's a lot of gross," Dylan admits. "But she has a killer smile."

"I've seen the pictures," Noah says, smiling again. "She's really cute, you guys."

Dylan rocks Aiden a little, and she hums in her sleep. She's a natural showboat, just like Mitch.

"So," Mitch says, nudging Noah a little. "What's up with you, huh, Dad?"

"Not much," Noah tries.

Dylan makes a hand signal at Mitch, and Mitch tackles Noah.

"Okay," Dylan says once Mitch has himself octopus-wrapped around Noah. "So. How's Charlie?"

"Better, I think," Noah replies. "He was freaked out so I went to see him."

Dylan shares a glance with Mitch; that sounds familiar.

"He's, uh." Noah smiles a little. "He waited for me to find out if it was a girl or a boy."

Mitch's eyes light up, and he octopus-squeezes Noah.

"You don't have to tell us, if you're keeping it a secret," Dylan says, smiling a little. "We were kinda quiet about Aiden until after the shower."

"It's a boy," Noah blurts out, like he's been dying to tell someone.

"Congratulations," Mitch says. "Oh my god, you're gonna have a _son_."

"I'm just happy he's okay," Noah replies.

Dylan frowns a little. "Did you think something was wrong?"

Noah sighs. "Charlie didn't find out until he was like fifteen weeks, and he'd already played all the way through a tournament. Plus there's all this stuff you're supposed to do—well, you guys know. But he was on a training diet."

"Oh, shit," Mitch says. "So is he really small? The baby?"

"He's catching up. He's a fighter." Noah's eyes are shining but he keeps it together.

"And everything looks good so far, other than that?" Mitch asks, snuggling into Noah's side.

"Yeah. It was just good to see him, y'know?"

"We know," Dylan confirms. "So, like, everything's good with you guys? Eichs was kinda..."

"Eichs doesn't fucking get it," Noah cuts in.

"Okay," Dylan says. Aiden whines a little, and he rocks her gently. "Does he, like, not like Charlie or something? They seemed fine when you guys came to the shower over the summer."

Noah frowns. "He thinks I'm a pushover 'cause I'm not giving Charlie a hard time."

That... definitely seems like a Jack thing to do. "I mean, I'm assuming you and Charlie talked things out," Dylan says slowly. "And you didn't just, like, instantly forgive him with no talking about it."

"Well yeah, obviously." Noah sighs, frustrated.

"Then it's none of Jack's business," Mitch says. "You can absolutely withhold baby cuddles if he keeps being a dick."

"I can't until March," Noah points out.

"Tell him you're gonna," Dylan suggests. "And tell him you're keeping a list of shit, and he'll have to work off his debt in forfeited baby cuddles after he's born. I bet he gets a lot nicer."

"Whatever, I don't have time for drama anyway," Noah says. "We've only got a few more months to get everything figured out."

Dylan can see Mitch struggling not to laugh. There's nothing low-drama about having a baby, but Noah will probably find that out on his own. "So, have you guys figured out where he's gonna be born yet?"

Noah blushes. "I'm working on it."

Mitch pokes him in the side. "Work harder," he teases.

"I just," Noah says, sighing a little. "Charlie's got this... I don't know. This thing about how much _older_ he is." He makes a face.

"What kind of thing?" Dylan's careful to keep his voice neutral; he's not judging, he's listening.

"He's five years older than I am," Noah says, sighing. "So now he thinks that he's the worst, that this is trapping me in a relationship I don't want to be in, something like that." He shrugs. "It's bullshit, but I can't convince him of that."

Dylan winces. That part sounds familiar too.

Noah sighs. "I mean, I love him," he says. "A lot. And we're gonna have a kid." He smiles as he says it, like he can't help it. "It's great, you know? Except I can't convince him that I want him, want the baby, and I feel like if I say or do anything wrong, he's gonna take it as proof that I don't really want it."

"Just keep showing up," Mitch advises. "If you're always there eventually he'll get it."

Dylan smiles a little and pets at Aiden's hair. She snuffles against his shirt.

"I'm trying to not freak out where he can see it," Noah says quietly. "Like, I want to prove I can handle it."

Dylan frowns. "Uh. That's probably not the best idea."

"If he thinks I'm too young, then he might dump me," Noah says. "I don't want to lose him. I don't want to lose our _son_."

"I get it, but if he's freaking out and you're zen all the time, it's going to make him feel crazy," Dylan points out.

Noah shrugs a little. "He can vent to me, tell me about all the weird shit that's going on, and I can tell him it's okay," he says. "That doesn't seem so bad to me."

"It's not bad," Mitch agrees. "That's definitely important. But dude, I couldn't keep it all in. Ask Dylan, I was a mess sometimes."

"He was," Dylan confirms. "We were both a mess, but mostly in different ways. There's no way we would have made it through without talking to each other."

"And maybe if you tell him, he'll know you're taking this seriously," Mitch adds, ruffling Noah's hair.

"I just don't want to scare him off," Noah mumbles, leaning into Mitch heavily. "This is important."

"Trust me, I know." Dylan might be sleep-deprived but he remembers what it was like trying to muddle through it all. And it would've been even worse if Davo was mad at him or Mitch. "You can call either of us any time, okay?"

"Okay," Noah says. "Thanks, guys. I'll probably have a zillion questions."

"Text me whenever," Dylan offers. "I'm awake weird hours with Aiden so the time zones'll probably be fine. And the same goes for Charlie."

"I'll tell him," Noah promises. "And I can't wait to meet her for real. I'm up this way close to Christmas; maybe I can make it over to you for a little while then."

"Sounds good," Dylan answers. They've already started figuring out Christmas plans, and it wouldn't be hard to fit Noah in—they mostly involve showing off Aiden and staying indoors as much as possible.

"This is going to sound like terrible advice, but try not to worry too much," Mitch adds. "Eichs has that pretty well covered."

Noah snorts and shoves Mitch away a little. "Yeah, okay. I'll give that a try."

-0-

Mitch isn't thrilled about having to fly out for a game so soon after Dylan and Aiden get home, especially with Aiden being sick, but hockey calls. Dylan assures him they'll be fine, and has to all but shove Mitch out the door. "And don't let Hallsy give you any more baby Devils stuff," he calls as Mitch is getting into his car. "Enough is enough, already."

Mitch laughs. "I'll try," he promises as he shuts the door.

Dylan and Aiden wave as he pulls out of the garage, and then Aiden yawns hugely. "Agreed," Dylan tells her. "Let's nap."

They doze for a while until Aiden decides she's done with that, and then it's play time. Dylan smiles as she chews happily on the plastic keys she refused to leave at Ryan's. She looks like she's feeling a lot better, which is great.

"Iron Baby," he brags, tickling her belly.

She flings the keys out, splattering spit on his arm.

"Oh no, you got me!" Dylan flings himself down, clutching his arm. "Ref! Two minutes for slashing."

She giggles, waving the keys at him again.

"Do you want a major for instigating?" Dylan threatens.

"Ahhhh," Aiden says insistently, whacking at him with the keys.

Dylan scoops her up. "Oh, that is _it_. You're going down." He blows a raspberry on her neck.

She shrieks into his ear, grabbing a fistful of hair and laughing. It's so good to see her happy again, even if she is drooling on his neck.

Aiden starts sucking on his shirt after a couple of minutes, so Dylan heads for the kitchen to make a bottle. She chats happily to him while he mixes it up. "Oh, is that right?" he replies as she babbles at him.

"Oooooooo," she agrees.

Dylan snorts. "I'll take that under advisement." He sticks the bottle in Aiden's mouth, and she frowns in annoyance as she tries to figure out how to navigate food and talking while she has a blocked nose. She is so painfully Mitch's daughter. Eventually, though, food wins out. That's Dylan's genes shining through.

She blows snot bubbles, which Dylan's happy to attribute to Matt. What else are little brothers for?

The keys are her new favourite thing, which is fine, except that she won't let go of them when Dylan tries to burp her. Any minute now he's going to get hit in the eye. "Ohhhhh," she says, right before she burps and smacks his ear with the keys.

Dylan sighs. "The next time we go to New York, remind me to set Uncle Ryan's alarm to go off at three in the morning."

"Buh," Aiden agrees.

"That's right. Bad Uncle Ryan, giving you toys to beat up Papa with."

She sticks one of the keys back into her mouth and stares at him intently.

Dylan shakes his head. "You're going to destroy so many mouthguards."

She says something without taking the key out of her mouth, still staring at him.

This is his life right now: trying to hold a conversation with someone who can't stop sticking things in their mouth. It's not all that different from Mitch being home, honestly. Who knew hockey would be such good preparation for parenthood?

Dylan puts her in the bouncy seat while he folds laundry; she spends most of that time either chewing on the keys or banging them against the side of the seat, which is business as usual. His life might not be massively exciting right now, but Dylan's okay with enjoying the relative quiet until things turn upside down again.

Aiden definitely needs a diaper change by the time the laundry's done, but for once she doesn't yell when he attempts it. Maybe the keys are actually a godsend.

Of course, as soon as he thinks that, Aiden drops them on her face. It's cause for the fire alarm siren noise, clearly, because she starts it up immediately.

"Shh, it's okay." Dylan quickly finishes changing her and picks her up.

His phone rings while she's still crying; thankfully it's not the raid siren cry, and it's Matty anyway. He can deal with crying. Dylan sits in the rocking chair, gets Aiden shuffled into one arm, and answers the call. "Hi Matty."

It feels like forever since they've talked; Dylan got used to speaking with his brothers almost every day, but between their hockey schedules and Aiden's fluctuating baby schedule, that went out the window pretty fast.

"Hey, Dyls," Matty replies. There's a pause, and then, "Is she crying, or are you in a police car right now?"

"She doesn't even have teeth yet but she's trying her hardest to knock them out anyway," Dylan replies.

"Aww," Matty says. "What happened?"

Dylan explains about Aiden's favourite new toy, and how she uses it to slash everyone. "And then she got herself," he finishes. "High keying, right in the face."

"Ouch. I'd cry, too," Matt replies.

"She's got it covered," Dylan says, adjusting Aiden. She's mostly done with the crying, thankfully. "Wanna say hi? I can put you on speaker."

Matt snorts. "Do I wanna say hi to my best girl? Uh, yeah."

"Hey, Aiden, it's Uncle Matt," Dylan says as he puts the phone on speaker and sets it down. "Can you say hi?"

Aiden growls and blows a spit bubble.

"Hey, Aiden girl!" Matt says cheerfully. "I heard you were a little sick, huh? Hope you're feeling better."

Aiden jams her hand in her mouth, her face adorably grumpy.

"Guess she's not in the mood for a press conference," Dylan says, laughing

"I've got something better," Matt says, sounding way too excited for his own good. "Hey, Aiden. Knock knock."

"She's seven weeks old," Dylan feels the need to point out. "She's not going to answer you, even if she wasn't trying to eat her hand right now."

"Knock _knock_ ," Matt repeats.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "Who's there?"

"Canoe," Matt answers.

"Canoe who?"

"Canoe believe how great this joke is?" Matt says, laughing as he finishes.

"No, I can't believe it," Dylan says dryly. "My baby had to hear that with her own two ears."

"It was great, don't even try me," Matt says. "Knock knock."

"No."

"C'mon, Dyls," Matt wheedles. "Knock knock."

Dylan sighs. "Who's out there this time?"

"Interrupting pirate," Matt says. He's already laughing.

"Interrup—"

"ARRRRRR," Matt yells, then cracks up.

Aiden coos, because apparently she inherited her uncle's sense of humour.

"She liked that one!" Matt says excitedly. "Okay, Aiden, I've got more. Knock knock."

"Who's there?" If you can't beat 'em...

"A little old lady," is the answer.

Dylan shakes his head. He will _not_ smile. "A little old lady who?"

"Hey, I didn't know you could yodel!" Matt says brightly.

Dylan snorts. "Why are you like this? Did you get checked into the boards?"

"Every single joke I know is not Aiden-appropriate," Matt says. "I Googled. Knock knock."

"This is the last time," Dylan says. "Who's there?"

"A broken pencil," Matt says.

"A broken pencil who?"

"Oh, never mind," Matt says, sighing dramatically. "It's _pointless_."

Dylan can't help cracking up. "That's terrible."

Aiden cracks up too, her little baby giggles making Dylan laugh even harder.

"Yes! I win!" Matt crows.

Dylan tickles Aiden's belly a little, and she laughs so hard she starts squeaking.

Matt laughs along with her. "I should make that my ring tone."

"You should make sure your homework's done before your game tomorrow," Dylan replies. "You can't use 'the baby ate it' as an excuse when you're not even here."

"Wow, Aiden, your Papa's a fun-sucker," Matt says. "You just want to call and laugh with your best girl, and he's all, _get off the phone and do your homework_."

"I'm practicing for when she's a teenager," Dylan jokes.

"Well, you've got it down," Matt says. "Maybe try out the cool dad persona next, though."

"Good luck for your game. Don't let the Colts stampede you."

Matt snorts. "Puns aren't cool, Dyl."

"Says the king of knock-knock jokes," Dylan says dryly. "Talk to you later, Matty. Aiden says bye."

He lets her babble for a few seconds, because she's an independent baby and she speaks her mind.

"Bye, baby girl," Matt says softly. "I'm gonna get over there to see you soon. Somehow."

"We'll see you soon," Dylan echoes, and hangs up. He's not sure if Matt made him feel better or he made Matt feel worse. He'll text Ryan and see if he can call Matt soon; he's pretty good at helping out with little brother messes.

Dylan picks Aiden up and kisses her on the cheek. "Come on, kiddo. Snacks make everything better."

-0-

By the time Mitch gets home from New Jersey, Aiden's back to her usual loud, happy self. "I missed you," Mitch coos, hugging her. "And your weird Uncle Taylor got you a present, but Daddy made sure it was only one."

"Congrats on not caving to Hallsy's puppy eyes," Dylan says.

"I'm pretty sure the rest of whatever he was planning to give her is going to show up in the mail marked 'Christmas,'" Mitch says. "It's at least a little cute."

Dylan snorts. "As long as she can't hit herself on the face with it, I'm sure it's fine."

"Nah, it's a hair bow," Mitch says. "It's got a little clip, so it should stay wherever we put it."

"Cute and probably useful. I like it."

"I won't tell Hallsy," Mitch promises, because he's the best.

"Would husband again," Dylan replies, grinning. "So, the teammate invasion is tomorrow?"

"Yeah, after morning skate," Mitch confirms. "She should be up from her nap by then, right?"

"Absolutely, yeah," Dylan says. "She'll be ready for a bottle. Should I feed her before you guys get here, or is one of them gonna want to? I can try to hold her off if that's the case, but no promises."

Mitch smiles. "Nah, don't keep her away from her true love."

"Food for the Aiden-bear," Dylan says, reaching over to tickle her tummy.

It's nice to have a quiet family day together: between Dylan and Aiden traveling, Aiden getting sick, and Mitch playing in New Jersey, it feels like they haven't in forever. Mitch joins Aiden for tummy time, cheering when she manages to lift her head. She celebrates by whacking him in the head with her keys. 

Dylan bites his lip and absolutely doesn't laugh. Really. 

"That gets you two minutes in the cuddle bin," Mitch says, scooping her up. Aiden gives him a gummy smile and drools on his shirt.

"I think that's a penalty worth taking," Dylan says. "I might have to join her in the cuddle bin."

It's a pretty good way to end the week.

Aiden is in a great mood the next morning, which is awesome. She's the best baby, but sometimes it's hard to convince people of that if she's cranky. The three of them have breakfast together, and Dylan and Aiden wave goodbye when Mitch heads off to practice. It's almost like they're a normal family, not crazy hockey fanatics.

Aiden doesn't want Dylan to put her down, but he has to clean up a little before Mitch brings people home, so they compromise on the Moby wrap. She seems to like being able to rub her face on his shirt whenever she feels like it; Dylan makes a mental note to bring it up at her next appointment, to see if she's just picked up a weird new habit. For now, though, it's enough that she's happy while he folds a bunch of baby blankets that had congregated in the living room. He hums to himself as he goes, and Aiden coos along.

Most of the blankets get folded before Aiden starts up the food whine, so Dylan counts it as a job well done and heads to the kitchen. The wrap's actually pretty great; he has both hands free to get her bottle ready, and she doesn't get up to the level of hungry pterodactyl screech because she's cuddled up. It makes getting the bottle in her mouth easier, which overall leads to a much happier meal time for both of them. 

"Go team," Dylan says, smiling down at her.

She grins back at him, leaking milk down her chin. 

Sleep doesn't come easy, because Aiden's having too much fun today, but Dylan gets her down for a nap eventually. He doesn't want her to be Aiden-bear when she's supposed to be charming Mitch's teammates.

Mitch texts when morning skate is over. _looks like auston mo brownie and willy are coming. food should be there in ten and we're half an hour out. all ok at home?_

_all good, _Dylan replies. He managed to have a shower and actually put on grown up clothes; it's awesome.__

___see you soon xoxoxo,_ Mitch replies. He's the lamest, and Dylan would gladly marry him again._ _

__He waits until after the food is delivered to get Aiden up, but she's already awake when he goes in to fetch her. Her Leafs onesie still fits, and she looks adorable. He puts an Isles bow in her hair, just for balance. She's ready to meet her audience._ _

__Luckily, she doesn't have to wait long for them; the garage door rumbles open a few minutes later, and Mitch leads in a parade of remarkably clean hockey players. "I made them all shower twice before I let them come over," Mitch announced. "I didn't want Aiden to have to smell hockey practice."_ _

__"Good call." Otherwise Dylan might be sad this house doesn't have like fourteen bathrooms. Who knew Reginald Finch might have actually had a point?_ _

__Aiden coos at Mitch's voice, and he smiles and reaches for her. His four flunkies stare like Mitch has grown a second head. It's completely hilarious, so Dylan grabs his phone to record it for posterity._ _

__Mitch picks up one of Aiden's hands and waves at the camera. "Hi! I'm the first pick for World Junior-Junior-Juniors."_ _

__"You wish," Nylander snorts. "They don't even make skates that tiny."_ _

__"That's where you're wrong. Show him, Dyls," Mitch commands._ _

__Dylan grins and runs upstairs. Aiden's skate booties barely fit her anymore, but they can definitely jam her feet in them for this. When Dylan comes back, Mitch's eyes light up. "Okay, check this out. It's awesome."_ _

__Auston rolls his eyes, so clearly his ability to deal with Mitch being maximum Mitch is coming along nicely. Dylan slides the booties onto Aiden, who promptly reaches for her feet._ _

__"You can't eat those," Mitch tells her. "You don't have any teeth."_ _

__"Ehhhhhhh," Aiden informs him._ _

__"You can't tell me what to do," Rielly translates, cracking up._ _

__"Pretty much," Dylan says dryly. "So, who's gonna fight Mitch for her first?"_ _

__Nylander takes a giant step back._ _

__"Willy is afraid of babies," Mitch says solemnly._ _

__"No I'm not," Nylander protests. "I just filled my quota when Alex was little."_ _

__Dylan looks at him, eyebrow raised. "Dude, that was, like, 18 years ago. You were pretty much still a baby at the time, too."_ _

__"Exactly! I got it out of the way early." Nylander folds his arms so Aiden can't sneak up on him._ _

__"Marns told him he didn't have to hold her as long as he said she was cute," Auston says. "Which, y'know, he hasn't done yet."_ _

__"I'm okay with admitting I'm terrified," Rielly volunteers._ _

__"You can sit down first," Dylan suggests. "We're pretty good at putting the pillows in supportive places so you won't drop her."_ _

__Auston grins. "He's still too chicken."_ _

__"You first," Rielly shoots back._ _

__"Watch and learn." Auston heads over to the sofa and sits down, patting the empty seat next to him. Rielly scrambles to plop down next to him; Nylander follows much more sedately and sits as far away as he can. Brownie seems content to stand by the door and just watch it all unfold._ _

__"You have no taste, Willy," Mitch says indignantly, walking past him._ _

__Auston takes Aiden from Mitch with an ease that says he's definitely done this before, and he smiles down at her when she blinks at him. "Hey, chica."_ _

__"Okay, her skates are awesome," Rielly says, grabbing her foot. She squeals and kicks, and Rielly lets go like he's been burned. "Oh god! Sorry!"_ _

__Auston cracks up laughing. "She got you good."_ _

__Aiden stares at him for a minute, not used to his voice, and then she cracks up too._ _

__Rielly's face pretty much turns into a sunshine beam. "Oh my god, that's too cute," he says, reaching out tentatively. This time when he pokes her foot, she giggles as she kicks at him._ _

__Nylander snorts. "Poke check."_ _

__"Hockey baby," Rielly croons, poking at Aiden's other foot. She shrieks with laughter and kicks at him with that one, too._ _

__"Okay, she's cute for a baby," Nylander says, casting a sideways glance at Mitch._ _

__"She's the best," Mitch says proudly. "You don't have to hold her, Willy. In fact, if you want to go get food, I'm sure the other stooges won't even notice you're gone."_ _

__Nylander's gone almost before Mitch finishes talking._ _

__"Hey, Mo," Auston says, grinning at him. "Poke her palm with your finger. Gentle."_ _

__Rielly narrows his eyes suspiciously, but he does it._ _

__Almost instantly, Aiden grabs his finger and holds on, bouncing it up and down a little. "Bah!"_ _

__Rielly grins stupidly at her, and he misses Auston staring at his face._ _

__"You wanna try holding her?" Auston asks after a minute, looking down at Aiden. "I promise I won't let you drop her."_ _

__Dylan turns towards Brownie and smiles. "So, things have changed since our Otters days. Wanna get food and catch up?"_ _

__-0-_ _

__Mitch plays the Caps at home, and the less said about that game, the better. Right after that, though, he flies out to Edmonton, and Dylan gets a Skype call the evening before they play. When he answers, Dylan's not surprised to see Mitch snuggled up with Connor._ _

__"Look who I found," Mitch says, patting Connor's chest._ _

__"Babycakes, they're cutting me out," Nuge calls from off-screen. "It's not fair."_ _

__"Aww, that's terrible. Aiden needs Uncle Nutter Butter."_ _

__Mitch makes a face. "If we let him cuddle on the bed with us, can we come up with another name? He can be... Uncle Other Ryan. How's that?"_ _

__The phone wobbles as Nuge divebombs onto the bed. "Uncle Other Ryan, reporting for duty," Nuge says, wiggling his way between Connor and Mitch._ _

__Aiden makes a grumpy noise as Mitch gets shoved out of frame._ _

__"Nope, nope, move the phone or stack yourselves or something," Dylan says, bouncing her a little. "We're not doing this if she's mad."_ _

__They hastily rearrange themselves, and Dylan's not surprised when Mitch ends up in Connor's lap._ _

__"Comfy," Mitch says, patting Connor's thigh._ _

__Nuge grins. "I know."_ _

__Mitch makes a horrified face and lunches out of frame, and there's a crashing noise. Nuge and Connor look at each other, and Connor cracks up._ _

__Aiden squeals, because her dad has disappeared _forever_. Again._ _

__"Okay, how about I sit in Connor's lap, and Mitch has the other side of the bed?" Nuge says, amused._ _

__Dylan snorts. "Mitch can deal. It's not like he doesn't know where babies come from."_ _

__Aiden coos in agreement as Mitch climbs his way back into the frame._ _

__"Hi baby girl," Mitch says. "I miss you."_ _

__"Ahhhh," she says, reaching for the phone._ _

__"Ahhh, I know," Mitch replies. "I'll be back soon."_ _

__"Hey, Aiden, we gave Daddy a bunch of cool stuff for you," Connor says, leaning forward. "You think you can be a little Oilers fan a couple times? For Uncle Connor and Uncle Nuge?"_ _

__Aiden blows an epic spit bubble._ _

__"I think that's a maybe, if she feels like it," Dylan says, cracking up._ _

__"We're not sending a plushie of our new mascot," Nuge says, shuddering. "That thing gives _me_ nightmares. I'm not giving one to a baby."_ _

__Dylan takes that as an opening to tell them all about the Devils merch Hallsy's been sending. It's been showing up piece by piece, and Dylan has no idea what to do with most of it. "I mean, her ears aren't pierced," he complains. "Also, even if they were, no way am I giving her dangly things to yank at."_ _

__"How's he doing?" Connor asks, his voice whisper-soft. "I haven't talked to him in forever."_ _

__"You should text him," Dylan says. "He's good. I'm sure he'd be happy to hear from you." And if Hallsy makes Connor sad, Dylan can always threaten to withhold baby pics._ _

__Connor sighs, and Nuge gently bumps their shoulders together. "We can call him tomorrow," he says. "Ask him how things are."_ _

__"Ask him about trying to out-drink Beau Bennett," Dylan advises, grinning._ _

__"Oh my god," Nuge groans, laughing. "I bet nobody won that night. Especially poor Rico, who probably had to chaperone _and_ carry Hallsy's drunk ass home."_ _

__"Think about how many years Bennett was on a team with Malkin," Dylan replies._ _

__"Apparently he gets smilier the drunker he gets, too," Mitch puts in. "So just picture that a few shots in."_ _

__"Hallsy does that too!" Nuge replies. "Oh my god, I bet it was like a really sloppy Colgate commercial. Did Rico get pics?"_ _

__"Even better," Dylan says, grinning. "There's video."_ _

__Connor sighs. "We're not playing them until January."_ _

__"You'll survive," Dylan promises. "And, hey, we can invite him to Christmas here if you want. I don't know what his plans are, but I don't mind having him here."_ _

__Connor smiles. "That sounds awesome."_ _

__"Should we invite Ebs?" Nuge asks. "It might be nice to give them a few days together, and also, that way Hallsy isn't the odd man out."_ _

__"Christmas romance," Mitch says. "I like it."_ _

__"How much mistletoe do you think we can hang up in here?" Dylan asks, looking around the living room. "I mean, there are a lot of doorways."_ _

__Connor snorts. "If you think they're gonna need mistletoe to make out everywhere, then you clearly have been misinformed."_ _

__"Hey, speaking of Christmas and reasons not to hang mistletoe all over the house," Mitch pipes up._ _

__"That's a terrible way to change topics," Connor says._ _

__Mitch beams. "I'm an athlete, not a poet."_ _

__"Anyway," Dylan cuts in, amused. "We were thinking about having some of the guys from the Otters up after Christmas. Sort of a housewarming, sort of them getting to meet Aiden."_ _

__Connor beams. "That sounds nice."_ _

__"It sounds like possibly a disaster," Mitch says cheerily. "But a fun one! Probably."_ _

__Connor laughs. "You'll have to take videos for me."_ _

__"We will," Dylan promises. "Maybe we can Skype you. We'll have to figure out the timing."_ _

__"Whatever happens Aiden's going to steal the show," Nuge says._ _

__Mitch ruffles his hair in approval._ _

__As if sensing they're talking about her, Aiden yells and throws her keys to the ground._ _

__"Yeah, I know, you love media day," Dylan says, bending down to pick up the keys._ _

__"Which is good," Connor says. "Every day's like media day to her."_ _

__Aiden coos and gives him a gummy smile. Connor's still one of her favourites even though he's miles away._ _

__Mitch leans forward and grabs his phone. "Okay, say bye-bye to your uncles, Aiden," he instructs. "Time for Daddy and Papa to talk for a little while, so they're gonna go."_ _

__Connor reluctantly waves goodbye, and Nuge has to drag him out the door. Aiden whines a little when he's gone but she manages to keep her shit together._ _

__"It's okay, baby girl," Mitch croons. "Daddy's here, and that's good, right?"_ _

__Aiden noms on her keys, and Dylan's hand gets coated in drool._ _

__"Good enough," Mitch decides. "So, how's everything going? What's physio like? Getting started is always the hardest part."_ _

__"Brutal, but in a good way," Dylan replies. "It feels good to get back into it."_ _

__"I bet," Mitch says. "I hope it stays in the good way."_ _

__Dylan shrugs. "I'm starting slow; the trainer doesn't want me to overdo it. I'll need to line up a babysitter soon, I think."_ _

__Mitch makes a face. "Is it weird if we want to, like, interview them first? Is that a thing?"_ _

__"We can make it a thing," Dylan says, cuddling Aiden close._ _

__"Good," Mitch says firmly. "Hey, I can probably ask the team if they have a service they use. Bozie's the only one with a kid right now and his wife takes care of pretty much everything, but they've had other guys with kids before, so it might be something they have info on."_ _

__Dylan just nods. He can count on one hand the number of times he's been away from Aiden for more than an hour, and she was always with family or close friends. He's going to have to get used to it, but he doesn't have to like it._ _

__"D'you want me to call now?" Mitch asks softly. "We can wait until I get home if you'd rather, but if you want to get the process started, I'll talk to someone today."_ _

__"I can wait until you get home," Dylan says. "Pretty sure I'm going to need a hug for that."_ _

__"Okay," Mitch says, sounding a little relieved. "I think we're both gonna need a hug. It'll be much better if we can cuddle after."_ _

__Aiden babbles her agreement and smacks Dylan's knee with her keys._ _

__"Sounds like we're all in agreement," Dylan says, smiling down at Aiden, then at Mitch. "It's a date."_ _

__-0-_ _

__Dylan manages to get his Friday training session switched to Saturday, which means Chris can watch Aiden while Dylan's out. The trainer pushes him a little harder than Dylan's been working out on the treadmill at home, so he's a sweaty mess by the end of the session. It's like the Combine all over again, Dylan trying his hardest to prove he's got what it takes to make it. At least he's not wondering where he's gonna end up at the end this time, and he doesn't have to do the "bike til you puke" test again. And at the end of it Dylan gets to take a shower without listening for Aiden losing her tiny mind, which he hasn't done in almost two months. It's like a bonus._ _

__He's still pretty eager to see her by the time he pulls up outside Chris' house. She's fast asleep when he gets inside, which is great because at least she had a good day, but also terrible because Dylan itches to pick her up._ _

__"It's not like I wanted her to be miserable without me," Dylan says quietly._ _

__"But you kinda did, a little," Chris teases._ _

__"I mean, I did kinda want the moment where I walked in and she was happy to see me," Dylan admits._ _

__Chris ruffles his hair. "She will be. Aiden's crazy about you."_ _

__"I feed her a lot," Dylan says. "It helps."_ _

__Chris cracks up laughing. "Oh man, I thought you were kidding about the bottle being her best friend."_ _

__"I'm looking forward to putting her on solids," Dylan confesses._ _

__"I don't know how much that's gonna help," Chris says, still grinning. "She's just gonna start loving her silverware instead."_ _

__"How was she?" Dylan asks, because he can't help himself._ _

__"Great," Chris replies, smile softening. "We had tummy time, and we watched How It's Made. She liked the one about the decorative candles."_ _

__Dylan nods. "Bright, shiny colours. Good choice."_ _

__"Speaking of bright colours," Chris says, "what's with the keys?"_ _

__"Oh man, did she clock you?"_ _

__Chris nods. "Twice."_ _

__"They're her weapon of choice," Dylan says, shrugging a little. "Also her favourite toy. She likes making you play fetch when she's done whacking you with them."_ _

__Chris grins. "I'll keep that in mind."_ _

__Dylan opens his mouth to reply, but Aiden whines, and he immediately turns his head to look at her. She's starting to wake up, so he doesn't feel bad about walking over and scooping her up. "Hi, baby," he says softly._ _

__Aiden starts smiling before she even opens her eyes. It looks like a mighty struggle to actually wake up, but she manages to blink her eyes open eventually._ _

__"Hi, I'm home," Dylan says, brushing her hair back from her face._ _

__"Eh eh eh eh," she says, reaching up and grabbing his finger._ _

__"Whoa, superbaby. Careful with my money makers," Dylan teases._ _

__She promptly tries to shove her fist in her mouth, taking Dylan's finger with it._ _

__"Uncle Chris can get you a bottle, hungry girl," Dylan promises. "You don't have to nom me."_ _

__She makes a triumphant noise as she shoves Dylan's finger into her mouth, holding onto his knuckle to keep it there. She starts gumming at it right away._ _

__"Ow!" There's no way Aiden can be teething already, but her gums are hard at the back._ _

__She pauses mid-chomp, but when he pokes at her gums to test them out, she bites down hard. Dylan pulls his finger free and checks to see if it has an indent. Aiden whines and grabs for him; luckily, Chris comes back with a bottle before she can work herself up to anything._ _

__"At least we'll have plenty to talk to Dr. Hewitt about," Dylan says as Aiden chows down._ _

__"Is she okay?" Chris asks, frowning and leaning in. "She seemed fine all day. Did I miss something?"_ _

__"She bit me," Dylan replies. He's still trying to wrap his head around it._ _

__"She _bit_ you?" Chris echoes, astonished. "She's not supposed to have teeth yet!"_ _

__"I know, but tell that to her gums! They're like rocks."_ _

__Chris leans in closer. "Lemme look."_ _

__"I am not taking her bottle away," Dylan says flatly. "You can wait."_ _

__Chris waits as patiently as a Marner can, but as soon as Aiden finishes her bottle he makes grabby hands and takes over burping. She belches pretty promptly, and then Chris is peering into her mouth._ _

__"Serve you right if she pukes on your face," Dylan says, grinning._ _

__"She won't, she loves me," Chris says, distracted. "Will she get mad if I poke her?"_ _

__"Probably, which means you get to fix it." That's one of Dylan's rules: if he gives you a happy baby, he wants to get back a happy baby._ _

__Chris studies Aiden for a moment before settling her in the crook of his arm. "I'm gonna try it," he says, poking at her palm until she grabs his finger. Sure enough, she puts it right into her mouth._ _

__"Okay, you're right; gums aren't supposed to feel like that," Chris admits. And then Aiden chomps down. He yelps and pulls his finger back, and Aiden lets him go, giggling._ _

__"This is not a fun new game," Dylan informs her, taking her back so Chris can peer at his finger._ _

__"I really thought there'd be more damage."_ _

__"I don't think there's actually a tooth yet," Dylan says. "I think it's getting ready. If she did that with a real tooth it'd be worse."_ _

__Chris leans forward and tickles Aiden's belly. "You're growing up way too fast."_ _

__"It's the worst," Dylan says sadly, snuggling her close. "Before we know it, she's gonna be wearing her last dinosaur shirt."_ _

__Chris grimaces. "Don't say that in front of Mitch unless you want him to cry."_ _

__Dylan sighs. "I'm a little worried about him," he admits. "I mean, I'm not leaving next week or anything, but it's not that far in the future."_ _

__"Yeah, me too," Chris replies. "It's great that he's so involved with Aiden, but..."_ _

__"Maybe we should have some of the guys over more often," Dylan muses. "Make sure he's got people on the team he can rely on when Aiden and I are in Brooklyn."_ _

__"Well, it worked before she got here. It's worth a shot."_ _

__"Do I bring it up that way?" Dylan wonders. "Like, I don't want to trick him into it, but I don't want to make him sad by reminding him that we're going."_ _

__Chris frowns. "I could do it. Say I want to meet some of the team, or something like that. And hey, if he gets too lonely maybe I can stay for a while."_ _

__"I don't want to put that on you, though," Dylan says. Aiden sticks her hand in her mouth again, and he has the sudden realisation that her biting thing is probably a teething thing. "I mean, it's something he and I should talk about. That's a husbands thing."_ _

__"How much would you do for Matt?" Chris points out._ _

__"It's not that I don't think you would," Dylan says. "It's that I think that I _should_. Does that make sense?"_ _

__"Yeah. I'm just saying, we can work it out together. It's not all on you, either."_ _

__Dylan nods. "Okay. Go team us."_ _

__Chris leans over and ruffles Aiden's hair. "Go team us."_ _


	35. Chapter 35

Dylan's pretty sure Aiden isn't going to like her two-month appointment any more than she had the first one. He's equally sure Mitch is gonna spoil the shit out of her after, because that's his thing. Mitch has been making up for lost time since he got home from Vancouver, and Dylan can't see that changing. Aiden could use some extra cuddles after the booster shots she'll be getting, too.

She yells as per usual when they have to undress her.

"I promise we'll put it all back on as soon as we can," Mitch says, tapping her foot lightly. "Just let Dr. Hewitt do her thing, huh?"

Dylan grins. It's cute that he's such a soft touch.

"Okay, sweetie," Dr. Hewitt says, moving in. "Let's get this over with, huh?"

Aiden scowls the whole way through, and Dylan can't help taking pictures. She'll be the cutest meme ever.

Dr. Hewitt talks all through the exam, letting them know that her height and weight are good, her legs are working well, things like that. Then she checks Aiden's mouth for infection and gets a bite for her trouble.

"Whoa there," she says, laughing and gently tugging her fingers out of Aiden's mouth. "Are you teething already, Miss Aiden? Let's take a better look."

"Aah," Aiden complains, and even Mitch laughs at her.

"I know," Dr. Hewitt says as she bravely puts her fingers back into Aiden's mouth, "but if you're teething, then I can tell your dads what to do so it feels better. I need to look first, though."

Aiden tries her best to hold a conversation while Dr. Hewitt shines a flashlight in her mouth, scrunching her nose as she fails to move her tongue. "Ahhhhhhh," she manages, really insistently.

"Well, they'll probably take a long time to come through, but those are definitely teeth," Dr. Hewitt concludes. She grabs a paper towel and wipes a river of drool from Aiden's chin.

"Wow," Mitch says. He looks like he's conflicted between being really proud of Aiden for teething ahead of schedule or sad that she's growing up too fast.

Dr. Hewitt finishes her checkup and gets out of the way of the Mitch Marner express.

"Everything looks good," she says, stripping her exam gloves off as Mitch powers through getting Aiden dressed. "Though I bet you're extra glad you're not breastfeeding at this point."

"Oh my god, yes." Dylan doesn't even want to think about that.

"She's going to start getting fussy about the teeth," Dr. Hewitt says. "The more stuff you give her to chew on, the better. There are teething rings that go in the refrigerator or the freezer, and they feel awesome on teething gums."

Dylan snorts. "She's discovered chewing all on her own "

"She's a genius," Mitch insists, cuddling Aiden close.

"She's doing really well," Dr. Hewitt says, smiling at Mitch. "How's she doing with her arms? Is she starting to push up on them during tummy time?"

Mitch beams. "Just try and stop her."

"That's great to hear," Dr. Hewitt says. "I can see that she responds well to you two. Is she starting to recognise other people?"

"Well, she has her favourites," Dylan admits.

Dr. Hewitt laughs a little. "Believe it or not, that's good news," she says. "She's distinguishing between people. As long as she doesn't start biting people she doesn't like, we're counting this one as a win."

"Can we train her to bite people we don't like?" Mitch says, eyes wide.

"Please don't answer that," Dylan says quickly, just in case the answer is yes. It's something to keep in their back pocket, though. If they're ever up against it with the Flyers, it'll be good to have a secret weapon. Maybe at the All Star game.

"So," Dr. Hewitt asks. "What questions do you have for me?"

Mitch hands Aiden over and gets out his phone. This is Dylan's favourite part of these appointments: Mitch has calmed her down after the naked sad times, and now she just wants to be held and coo at him. He tries to listen to Mitch's list, but Aiden's just so warm and cuddly. Dylan wants to make the most of it before she has her shots and hates the world. Mitch will fill him in on the ride home anyway. He's the best.

Dylan sticks with the proven formula of sending Mitch to make a bottle while Aiden's guaranteed to cry. It's by far the best solution for everyone involved.

"We have a few this time, I'm sorry," Dr. Hewitt says, swabbing at Aiden's arm. "I'll be as quick as I can."

Dylan does his best to hold her still. Aiden's still not a fan of vaccinations, to nobody's shock. Dr. Hewitt's good, and Dylan's pretty sure Aiden's more angry than anything else, but it's still not a fun time.

"I know, honey, I'm almost done," Dr. Hewitt says.

"One more," Dylan promises. "And then we'll let Daddy in and you can have a bottle, how's that sound?"

Unsurprisingly, Aiden isn't a fan of pain. She howls and turns her snotty face against Dylan's shirt as Dr. Hewitt finishes up.

"I know, baby." Dylan bounces her in her lap, and thanks Dr. Hewitt.

"I'll send Mitch in," she promises as she cleans up. "We don't have to have a three-month checkup, so I'll see you again in two months."

Mitch can hardly wait to rescue Aiden from cruel reality. "It's okay, Daddy's here."

Dylan grabs a wipe when Mitch takes her. It's best to start the snot patrol right when she starts crying to minimise the damage, but he'll settle for halfway through. If Aiden gives him the death glare then so be it. Dylan's resigned to not being the fun parent.

"We should stop somewhere on the way home and get teething rings," Dylan suggests, wiping the worst of the snot off of Aiden's face. "I think she's good with her keys for now, but I'd rather have the rings in the fridge already for when she needs them."

"Anything she wants," Mitch promises, kissing the top of her head.

Dylan leans down to press a kiss to Aiden's forehead, then stands to do the same to Mitch. "I'll go make the follow-up," he says. "Take as much time as you need back here."

-0-

It's a good thing Aiden likes being in the car, because Dylan can't imagine being stuck in traffic on the 401 if she cried every time they got in. He was a little worried she might; she had a pretty fussy night after her shots, but today she's babbling at them from her car seat as they inch their way downtown. Mitch glances back at her so many times Dylan's glad he isn't driving.

"Good thing we left early," Dylan says when he starts getting concerned Mitch is going to climb into the back.

"Mhm," Mitch says, staring at Aiden in the little mirror attached to her car seat.

Dylan sighs. "Do you want me to pull over?"

"Sure, sounds good." Mitch probably has no idea what he just said.

"I'm leaving you for Mikey," Dylan says, just to test it out. "We're running away to Newfoundland. You and Nater can handle things here."

Mitch sighs. "Do you think she's hungry?"

"No, because she's not yelling at the top of her lungs."

"Her teeth might hurt," Mitch goes on. "Maybe she needs a teething ring."

Dylan grabs Mitch's knee and shakes him until he turns around. "If you want to go back there and say hi, go for it."

Mitch sighs and slumps back into his seat. "She's happy," he says. "She doesn't need me back there."

"Are you kidding? She always needs her dad." Dylan waits to see if Mitch is going to crack a smile.

He does, but it's clearly forced. "I mean, she better not need me too much, right? Since she's gonna be with Papa and Uncle Ryan and not Dad soon."

Dylan winces. They probably should've had this conversation earlier, or waited until after their appointment with the babysitting agency, or talked about it literally anywhere other than in the car while stuck in traffic. Still, it's not like he's going to put it off now that it's come up.

"She still needs you," he says. "You're her dad, Mitch. She loves you best."

Mitch shrugs. "I guess."

Dylan puts on his turn signal and pulls onto the shoulder. "Go back there and ask her."

"Dylan," Mitch whines, dragging it out an extra two syllables.

"Go. Cuddle." Aiden cuddles fix all kinds of things.

Mitch hesitates for a second, but then Aiden whines a little, probably because the car stopped moving. He's out the door in a heartbeat, sliding in next to Aiden and leaning over. "Hi, baby."

Aiden squeals with happiness, and when Dylan peeks in the mirror, she grabs a handful of Mitch's face. "Love hurts," Dylan teases.

"Hey, hey," Mitch says, laughing. He leans in, and Aiden shrieks and laughs, too. "I need my nose, kiddo. It's attached."

Aiden does her absolute best to change that, and Dylan tries not to laugh. He pulls back into traffic as Mitch pokes at her belly, trying get her to let go. Apparently Aiden takes that as a challenge to deploy her favourite new tactic: chew all the things.

"Ow!" Mitch cries out.

Aiden shrieks with laughter.

"Now I get it," Mitch complains. "You need Dad to be your punching bag."

Dylan thinks back to what he and his brothers were like growing up. "Sounds pretty accurate for a baby Strome."

"She gets it from both sides," Mitch says mournfully. "We're doomed." He sounds pretty happy about that, though.

Dylan focuses on driving; the last thing he needs is to get into a fender bender thanks to too much cuteness. There's a lot of it in the back seat right now, so he really has to focus.

They get to the agency's office eventually. Mitch has to take a minute to fix his hair because he's a mess; Dylan gives Aiden a high five. She laughs and grabs for his hair, but Dylan's gotten good at holding her so she can't quite get to it. She settles for stretching out the collar of his shirt instead.

Mitch snorts. "Wow, we look like parents of the year."

"I'm sure they've seen worse," Dylan replies. He is, too; neither of them has formula on them, and this shirt doesn't have puke on it.

"Yeah," Mitch agrees. "At least my pants aren't on backwards."

"We're totally presentable," Dylan says, heading for the door. "We've got this."

Aiden does her best to steal the receptionist's heart. He probably sees a dozen babies a day, but he still looks pretty charmed by her. Dylan and Mitch made a cute kid, okay. He waves goodbye when they go through to the office, and Aiden coos happily. 

"You're such a goof," Dylan says affectionately, ruffling her hair.

"She's never gonna have trouble finding friends," Mitch says, smiling as he adjusts her in his arms. "Right, baby girl? Everybody loves you."

Aiden grabs for his nose again and Mitch ducks out of the way, laughing. She's giggling back at him when they walk into the office.

"Well hello, sunshine. It's nice to meet you too." Aiden immediately turns her smile to the man standing up to greet them. He's tall, and Dylan's saying that as a hockey player, and he has a friendly face.

"This is Aiden. I'm Dylan, and the guy over there hamming it up is Mitch." Dylan holds out a hand for tall, friendly dude to shake.

"I'm Ethan," he replies, shaking Dylan's hand firmly. He reaches out to shake Mitch's hand, too, and then gestures at the chairs. "Let's get comfortable. Does Aiden need anything before we get started?"

Dylan glances over. Aiden's trying to jam her entire fist into Mitch's mouth. "Nah, I think she's good."

Mitch kisses her knuckles before grabbing her hand and waving it at Ethan. "Trust me, if she needs something, she'll let us know."

"Okay." Ethan sits back in his seat and waits a minute for them to do the same. "How can I help you today?"

Dylan glances at Mitch, who's apparently too busy playing tummy pokes with Aiden to start this conversation. He rolls his eyes a little, but he can't help grinning. "Mitch plays for the Leafs, and I'm signed with the Islanders," he says. "Obviously I'm not playing right now, but I'm working on getting back there, and we need to find someone to watch her so I can start some more intense training."

Ethan nods. "So you need to put consistent care in place. Long term or short term?"

"Uh," Dylan says. "I mean, we're working on me and Aiden heading to Brooklyn at some point in the new year. Probably in January, maybe February, depending on how my rehab goes."

"Okay. When the time comes I can put you in touch with my contacts in New York if you'd like," Ethan says. "But for now let's go for month by month, to give you flexibility with your carer."

"That sounds good," Dylan says. "How do we figure out who that will be?"

"Once I know a little more about what you need, I can put together a group of candidates," Ethan explains. "Everyone who works for us has a background check and up to date first aid skills."

"Okay, that's good," Dylan says. He pulls out his phone so he can show Ethan his training schedule. "This is what I've got for now time-wise."

Aiden starts whining while they're comparing notes, so Mitch gets up to walk her around. He talks quietly to her as they move around, and Dylan has to concentrate on his conversation so he doesn't focus on his family instead.

"She'll be just fine," Ethan says. "I know things."

Dylan smiles. "That's what I'm hoping."

-0-

Aiden takes forever to go down for a nap when they get home. She's had an exciting morning, so she fights it, and it probably doesn't help that Mitch is indulging her a little.

"Okay," Dylan says eventually. "Quiet time with Papa."

Mitch pouts and holds her close. "We're doing okay. She'll go down eventually."

Dylan barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Fine. But you're staying up with her when she won't go to sleep tonight." It's an empty threat; Mitch has a game tomorrow, so Dylan's on the night shift.

"I just," Mitch says, looking down at Aiden. "I know I'm being a little clingy."

"She can tell if you let yourself get upset," Dylan reminds him.

"I know," Mitch says, cuddling her close. "And it's not like this whole babysitter thing is a shock, but..."

Dylan steps forward and wraps his arms around them both. "Let's get her down and then talk about it."

"Okay," Mitch says, swaying into Dylan. Aiden grabs for his shirt, and, well, he's not gonna resist whole-family cuddles, especially since Aiden's slowly blinking her eyes. Sleep is incoming.

Mitch starts humming, and Aiden yawns widely.

"That's right, sleepy time," Dylan murmurs. "Trust me, baby girl, when you get older you're gonna miss naps."

Mitch laughs. "Not if she's a hockey player."

"Don't listen to Daddy," Dylan goes on. "He doesn't ever want to wake up from his naps. He gets to take them and he _still_ misses them."

Aiden's head thumps down heavily on Mitch's collarbone, and they both hold their breaths.

"Just keep rocking," Dylan whispers. "For a minute. To make sure."

Mitch shifts from foot to foot, making shushing noises. Aiden breathes deeply. Her eyelids don't even flutter.

"I'm going for the net," Mitch says, moving towards the crib. "Wish me luck."

"Go low, mobile-side," Dylan advises. "The sun won't come through the blinds up there."

Mitch sets her down carefully and moves his hands away, but he hovers for a minute just in case. Aiden sighs in her sleep, turning her head to the side and opening her mouth. Dylan waits, but she doesn't start screaming.

Mitch straightens up, beaming with pride. "Go team," he whispers, pumping his fist a little.

Dylan grabs him by the hand and drags him out of the nursery. "Go team," he replies when they're safely on the other side of the door.

Mitch turns into him, sliding his arm around Dylan's waist and pressing his face against Dylan's shoulder. "I know I'm being clingy," he says again.

"It's okay." Dylan hugs him back, and they sway a little right there in the hallway.

"It's soon," Mitch mumbles after a minute. "Like. We have to pick someone who's not family to watch her, and then when that's over, it's because you guys are going to New York."

Dylan swallows hard. "I know, it sucks. And I'm sorry." It's not like Dylan _wants_ to uproot Aiden from everything she knows; he's not exactly thrilled about leaving Mitch.

"I don't want you to go, but I don't want to be selfish," Mitch says. He sounds miserable. "I know it sucks for you too."

"I don't want to leave her with some stranger," Dylan says, equally miserable. "But if I'm home all the time I'll end up hating it. I don't want her to see me just giving up."

"I don't want you to give up," Mitch says fiercely. "I just... it was too much to ask for the Leafs to get you, wasn't it?"

Dylan squeezes him tight. "We'd still both be gone all the time."

"But at least we'd be missing her together," Mitch replies.

"I could..." Dylan takes a deep breath. "I could refuse to report."

Mitch clutches at him. "Don't you dare. I'll—we'll deal. We'll figure it out."

Dylan drags Mitch further away from the nursery, belatedly realising they're heading straight for the bedroom.

Apparently Mitch notices it too, because he laughs, a little watery. "What, trying to distract me?"

"Is it working?" Dylan feels hot all over. Having a baby feels a lot like World Juniors, trying to find time to sneak off together and having to be quiet.

"Yes, absolutely," Mitch says, squeezing Dylan's hand.

Dylan backs him into the wall and kisses him. Mitch's hands immediately go to Dylan's waist, slipping up under his shirt as he tilts his head back. This is ridiculous; their bed is half a dozen steps away, but Dylan can't stop. He can't give this up.

One of Mitch's hands wanders to Dylan's belly, fingers lightly touching the C-section scar. "What are you up for?" he asks, mouthing his way down Dylan's neck.

"You," Dylan replies. "I want—"

Mitch bites down, and Dylan arches into it.

"God, just keep going," Dylan says breathlessly, clutching at Mitch's shoulder.

Mitch grins at him, merciless, and drops to his knees.

"Oh, fuck," Dylan says, putting his hands against the wall. He looks down at Mitch as Mitch undoes Dylan's pants and pulls them down. He mouths at Dylan's dick through his boxers, and Dylan almost loses his balance.

Mitch pulls back a little and looks up at Dylan. "We can move to the bed," he says, wrapping a hand around Dylan's calf. "Then you can move all you want."

Dylan can't talk. He just nods and takes a careful step back.

Mitch lets his fingers trail up Dylan's side as he gets back to his feet. "C'mon," he urges, squeezing Dylan's hip. "Bed. I wanna blow you."

Dylan kicks his pants off. He doesn't need to be told twice. He barely beats Mitch to getting naked and on the bed. He sits down on the edge just in time for Mitch to sink to his knees between Dylan's thighs.

"Fuck." Dylan rests a hand on the back of Mitch's neck, curling his fingers in Mitch's hair.

"We'll see how you're feeling when I'm done here," Mitch promises, leaning in to drag his lips up Dylan's dick.

"I'll be dead from blue balls," Dylan says, his back arching involuntarily.

"Maybe," Mitch says, grinning up at him. "Gonna have to wait and see."

Dylan has the sinking feeling Mitch is going to show him how much he's going miss out on, living in New York instead of staying in Mitch's bed. It's not like he's not already aware, but he's also not going to say no to the refresher course. Two can play at that game, though. Mitch teases the head of Dylan's dick with his tongue, and Dylan starts making his own plans. If they're lucky Aiden will sleep for at least an hour. That's plenty of time to get Mitch begging.

Dylan gasps when Mitch decides abruptly that he's done teasing, holding his dick steady while he bobs his head up and down. There's not much he can do except let Mitch take him apart.

Dylan doesn't have much to compare it to, but Mitch is really, really good at giving head. It's not long before Dylan's breathing raggedly, trying hard not to thrust into Mitch's mouth. Mitch looks up at him, grinning around Dylan's cock like the arrogant jerk Dylan reluctantly fell for three years ago.

"Fuck, I love you," Dylan groans, closing his eyes to hopefully give himself a little more stamina.

No such luck. Mitch pulls back when Dylan starts coming, jerking him through it. When Dylan opens his eyes... Well. Mitch's face is a mess.

"Shit," Dylan says, reaching down to cradle Mitch's face, fingers sliding through the mess on his cheek.

Mitch, the bastard, is still grinning. "Haven't had time for this in a while."

"Get up here," Dylan demands.

"Can I wash my face first?" Mitch asks, putting his hands on Dylan's knees to leverage himself up.

"It was your idea," Dylan points out. "Deal with it."

"Like you didn't enjoy it," Mitch counters, wiping at his face as he stands. He looks at his fingers consideringly, then puts them slowly in his mouth.

"Okay, now you're gonna get it." Dylan lunges for him and tackles him onto the bed.

"You're gonna give it to me?" Mitch asks, grinning when Dylan pins him. He pushes his hips against Dylan's thigh. "What if I don't wanna wait, huh?"

"I have ten fingers and a mouth," Dylan says, and he kisses Mitch bruisingly hard.

-0-

Aiden is starting to sleep like a pro, which means that everyone's happier. Dylan sleeps well, too, after fucking Mitch's brains out. Mitch also sleeps well, just to round out the family sleep factor, but that's the least shocking part. Dylan has to roll him out of bed for morning skate, because Mitch would much rather stay in his blanket burrito.

Game day goes by quickly; Aiden gets some grandpa time in with Mitch's dad while Dylan goes to rehab, which is great, because they met some people from Ethan's agency and decided on someone to start in a few days. Aiden getting a little more family time before then is nice. They settle onto the sofa when Dylan gets home to watch Mitch play the Wild. Aiden falls asleep in the first period, so Dylan turns the volume down low. It's not a super exciting game; it looks like both teams are having an off night, which of course means it drags all the way to a shootout, where the Leafs lose. Dylan's only awake by sheer force of will. He breathes a sigh of relief that it's over, and goes to bed.

He gets almost a full night's sleep; he sort of surfaces when he hears Aiden fussing, but then he hears Mitch talking to her over the monitor, and then they all sleep until Aiden wakes up hungry right before the sun comes up.

"You'd think she was the one up all night chasing pucks," Dylan grumbles.

Mitch snorts. "No post-game pizza for babies. Bozie said so."

"I'm still not taking parenting advice from a dude who named his kid _Kanon_ ," Dylan says, rocking Aiden as she sucks her bottle down.

Mitch rolls his eyes. "He's cute enough to live down the name."

"Good," Dylan says. "That is one hundred percent thanks to his mom. I'm sure of it."

Aiden fusses a little, and Mitch steps close to kiss her on the forehead. "Don't worry, you're always the cutest."

She blinks a few times and smiles.

Mitch sighs. "Remind me why I promised to go out with the team."

"Because they're your team," Dylan points out.

"But she's so cute," Mitch whines. "And I love her. And she never ever smells like locker room."

"Aww, did you hear that?" Dylan coos at Aiden. "Daddy volunteered to change the diaper genie."

"Daddy lost rock-paper-scissors with Uncle Auston and had to get a soggy jock out of the creepy corner of the showers last night," Mitch says, poking Aiden in the belly. "Diaper genie doesn't scare me."

"Oooh," Aiden says, appreciative, and Mitch cracks up.

"Go do team things," Dylan says, smiling. "I'll save the diaper genie for when you get back. Aiden and I have a super important grocery store trip to tackle while you're gone, so you're not missing anything awesome."

"Oooh, exciting," Mitch says, brushing Aiden's hair away from her face before stepping back. "I guess I can do video games and lunch with the guys for a little while. You can handle the grocery store."

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Please, we'll kick the grocery store's ass."

"Be careful in the yogurt aisle," Mitch says solemnly. "That can get slippery in an ass-kicking."

Aiden squeals loudly and kicks out with both feet. Apparently she's more than ready.

"We've got this," Dylan agrees, bouncing her a little. "Say bye to Daddy, baby girl. We've got formula to buy."

Aiden babbles loudly, which is close enough.

They manage to kick Mitch out of the house before they go; Dylan isn't sure that Mitch would actually meet up with his teammates otherwise. Aiden talks to herself the whole way to the store, which is what you get, apparently, when a Marner marries a Strome. It means she's happy, though, and it's way too fucking cute for Dylan to resist smiling. He takes a quick video and sends it to Connor, just because he hasn't in a little while, and smiles even more when he gets a bunch of exclamation points in response.

"Okay, kiddo," Dylan says as he parks at the store. "Let's do this."

Shopping with a baby is an adventure, like always, but Dylan manages to get most of what he needs before Aiden gets bored. He can always get Mitch to pick up some milk later—Aiden _really_ hates fridges.

"How's this sound," he bargains with her as he pushes the cart towards the checkout. "We'll get Daddy a Kinder Bueno, and we'll use it to bribe him to get the cold stuff later."

Aiden's lower lip wobbles, and Dylan hurriedly searches for a pacifier. "Almost done, baby, I promise."

She takes the pacifier, thank god, and Dylan starts throwing things onto the belt. He gets it all out of the cart and gets ready to scoop Aiden up if she loses her cool. She's gnawing pretty determinedly on her pacifier, though, so Dylan lets her do her thing.

"Good girl," he says quietly, squeezing her foot.

She spits her pacifier out so she can smile at him, then starts making a frowny face when she realises it's not in her mouth anymore.

Dylan cracks up. "You're too little for multitasking." He pops the pacifier back in her mouth, pays for the groceries, and they make it to the car without a meltdown. "Hey, low five!"

She grabs his finger and tries to pop it into her mouth, bonking it against the pacifier in the process.

Dylan ruffles her hair. "Never change, kiddo."

Aiden scowls, even though she can't possibly know he's laughing at her. Sure enough, she bonks his finger against the pacifier again, and does her best baby bear growl when she's not rewarded with a nice finger to chomp on.

"If you give me my finger back, I can get you a teething ring," Dylan says, tugging a little.

Aiden spits out the pacifier and squeals loudly, accepting no substitutes. In hindsight, Dylan's extra glad he skipped the refrigerator aisle.

"Okay," he says, reaching for the diaper bag. "Ready? Teething ring magic incoming. Papa's got your back."

Aiden scrunches up her nose, but she generously allows him to hand over the teething ring. She eyes him skeptically as she munches, still gripping his finger tight. All of a sudden, she makes an interested sound and starts chewing harder, and Dylan grins. "Good, huh?"

He tries to extract himself so he can put the groceries in the car. Aiden stops chewing and glares at him.

"Okay, got it. Papa's the best toy of all." It's not like Dylan has anywhere better to be.

She goes back to chewing, still eyeing him warily.

He stays put for a while, until her chewing gets less intense and her eyes start drooping. Her grip loosens, and Dylan finally manages to break free. He loads the groceries in record time and manages to get the car started before she can wake herself back up. The drive home will definitely take care of the rest.

She's conked out when he glances in the mirror, so Dylan pulls his phone out and texts Mitch. _got some illicit candy. will trade for milk._

_what type of candy_? Mitch replies almost instantly.

"I think Daddy's getting bored," Dylan says. Aiden doesn't move.

_kinder bueno,_ Dylan replies. _only the best for bribery candy._

Mitch replies with a string of heart emoji. _auston wants to come over and say hi to aiden once you guys get home,_ he says a moment later. _i'll run out and get the milk after he leaves?_

_its a deal._ Dylan puts his phone away and heads out of the parking lot.

Dylan manages to get all the groceries put away before Mitch and Auston get home. Aiden sleeps through the whole thing; Dylan makes a mental note to thank her for her help later. "Papa's favourite sidekick," he says quietly, lifting her out of the car seat.

She snuffles against his neck and drops the gross, spitty teething ring down his shirt.

"Yay, lucky me! I get the Kinder Surprise." Dylan rocks her a little, so she'll settle back down.

She starts chewing at the collar of his shirt, so Dylan carries her into the kitchen to get a bottle.

"Eat, play, sleep, play, eat. It's tough being a baby," Dylan says as he cradles her against his chest and gets everything ready.

The garage door starts opening just as he's screwing the top on the bottle, and Auston walks in first. His face lights up when he sees Aiden and the bottle. "Oooh, can I?"

"Keep the bottle tilted so she doesn't suck down too much air," Dylan says, handing her over easily.

"I've got this," Auston says, smiling down at Aiden as she makes fish face at the bottle. "Hey, Aiden. Best time of the day, right?"

She smiles back at him, because she's a charmer.

Auston doesn't hesitate to poke the bottle into her mouth. "Gotcha."

Aiden's happy, so Dylan steps aside and goes so say hi to Mitch properly. He ducks in for a "hey, missed you" kiss, smiling down at Mitch. "How was practice?"

"Good," Mitch answers, slipping an arm around Dylan's waist and leaning into him. "I, um. Matt Martin cornered me today and told me that if you want to talk Isles stuff, he's game." He shrugs a little. "Apparently he's G-positive, and he told me to let you know that the Isles are really good about all of that."

"We know that at this point," Dylan says, shrugging a little. "But that's cool of him. Tell him I said thanks." He probably won't take Martin up on it, but it was nice of him to offer.

"I will," Mitch promises. He glances at Auston and Aiden. "Think we have time to sneak off for a few minutes?"

"Maybe," Dylan starts, which is when the doorbell rings. Dylan snorts. "Expecting someone else?"

Mitch frowns. "No. The guys laughed me out of the room when I said I had to get milk, and then Auston tagged along with me. Nobody else said they were coming."

Dylan kisses him quickly and goes to answer the door.

"This one is definitely yours," he calls back when he opens it up. Rielly is standing sheepishly on the walkway, holding a shopping bag. "And he brought you a present."

"Ooh, present!" Mitch says, skipping out of the kitchen.

"It's not exciting," Rielly says. He's definitely turning red. "But, uh, you said you needed milk? So I thought..." He shrugs and holds the bag out. "Auston came with you, right?"

Dylan bites his lip and steps aside. He is so not getting in the middle of this.

"Aww man, does this mean I don't get candy?" Mitch asks.

"I don't think he's in it for the candy," Dylan says as Rielly shoves the bag into Mitch's arms and beelines for the kitchen, where Auston is laughing loudly at something Aiden's doing.

"Nah, he's in it for the sugar," Mitch jokes, waggling his eyebrows.

"Have they finally..." Dylan asks, waving his hand towards the kitchen.

Mitch shakes his head sadly. "Nope."

"Well," Dylan says, grabbing Mitch's hand and heading for the kitchen. "Let's go watch the sparks fly."

-0-

Mitch has a one-night road trip to Boston, so Dylan and Aiden hang out on the sofa and watch it together. She starts crying when Backes slams Mitch into the boards and the crowd noise gets loud, so naturally Dylan takes a video and sends it to Mitch. _daddys #1 fan!!!_

Aiden's a lot better after a bottle and some serious cuddles, and Dylan gets a video of her cooing when Mitch retaliates with a goal. "Yay Daddy," Dylan croons, letting Aiden grab his finger and then waving her hand in the air. "Score lots of goals! Crush the Bruins."

Aiden babbles her agreement, because she's the best. She falls asleep in the second and stays down, so Dylan puts her in her crib during intermission and then returns to watch the Leafs pull the game out by the skin of their teeth. He texts Mitch a thumbs-up, then goes upstairs to crash.

Mitch texts him in the morning with his flight time.

"What do you think, Aiden? Should we surprise Daddy?"

Aiden reaches for his phone. Dylan doesn't let her have it, since it'll immediately end up in her mouth, but she does coo at it, which is enough of an answer.

He texts Auston to get help with the setup. Auston texts him back a little while later with directions on where to drive and where to wait. Dylan thanks him and goes to get Aiden dressed. Baby Leaf is a pretty cute look for her.

"We need to get you a Daddy jersey," Dylan says, scooping her up. "That way everyone will know whose fault it is that you're so cute and so loud at the same time."

Aiden squeals, to prove his point.

"Yup, we're gonna go get Daddy," Dylan says, walking into his own room and plopping her in the middle of his bed. "Papa's gonna put more clothes on, though, because it's cold out." He pauses as he's pulling out a sweatshirt. "Actually, Papa's gonna put your big puffy coat on you, too. You and cold are not friends, Aiden-bear."

She chews on her hand and lets him bundle her up. It's a little hard to see her face once she's in her coat and hat, but she looks pretty warm, so Dylan just goes with it.

He doesn't see the flaw in the plan until he tries to put her in her car seat. "Well, hell," he mutters. Aiden's pretty patient while he screws around with the car seat buckles, loosening the straps. "It's like a whole extra baby's worth of space for your puffy coat." He can't remember if he's supposed to take it off when he buckles her in. Two months into being a father and he still gets tripped up by things he never thought of. "Daddy better be grateful," Dylan grumbles.

Aiden growls back at him.

Dylan snickers. "Yeah, that. Make sure you tell him that, okay?"

They get to the airport without any further incidents, and when he gets Aiden out of her seat she buries her face in his neck.

"I know, it's chilly," Dylan says sympathetically, tugging the hood of the coat up to hopefully ward some of the cold away. "Don't worry, Papa brought mittens!"

He puts them on her tiny hands, and she makes a startled noise.

"You can't grab things, but they're warm," Dylan says. "Also, don't chew on them, that's weird." He reaches back into the car to grab a pacifier and taps it against her mouth until she bites at it. "There you go. Are we ready?"

Aiden headbutts his collarbone so he takes that as a yes.

Dylan heads over to the waiting area, where a couple of women have already staked out their spots. He doesn't really know them, hasn't had time to join the WAGs network. There's a woman there with a little kid standing in front of her, holding tightly onto her pants. Dylan recognises Bozak's baby, even if he doesn't really know Kanon's mom.

"Um. Hi," he says awkwardly, arms full of puffy jacket.

"Hi," she says warmly, picking Kanon up and standing. "I'm Molly. You must be Dylan, right? Mitch's husband?"

"That's me. And somewhere under all this is Aiden." Dylan wrinkles his nose, slightly embarrassed. "She hates the cold."

Molly laughs a little. "Kanon doesn't like leaving the house without the Canucks blanket my brother got him as a joke. Sometimes they have weird personality quirks."

"Well, Mitch is her dad, so..."

"She's got opinions," Molly finishes. "Trust me, I get that."

Dylan hides his grin in the hood of Aiden's jacket.

Aiden sneezes in her coat burrito, and Kanon whips his head around and stares. "Ma?" he says curiously, leaning over.

"It's a baby," Dylan explains. "She's hiding."

Kanon's face lights up. "Bay," he says excitedly, turning around to face Molly. "Bay!"

Molly laughs. "He doesn't really get to see other tiny people at team things."

Dylan picks up one of Aiden's mittened hands and waves at them. "Hi, fellow tiny person."

Kanon squeals and reaches out to grab her hand.

Aiden spits out her pacifier and squeals back at him. "Guess she has to have the last word," Dylan jokes.

"Be nice," Molly warns as Kanon grabs again. "She's very little, sweetie."

Kanon frowns in concentration and carefully pats Aiden's arm, like she's a puppy or a kitten.

"Good job, buddy," Dylan says. He shuffles Aiden around until he can free up a hand for Kanon to high-five. The baby summit is a success.

There's some noise from the end of the waiting room, and Dylan glances at the clock on the wall. It's almost definitely the team. "Hey, Aiden, guess who?"

Mitch is looking at Auston, cracking a joke or talking shit but definitely not being a wallflower. Auston grins and elbows him in the ribs.

"Da!" Kanon shrieks, which gets everyone's attention. Dylan grins, waiting for Mitch to see them standing there. Bozak heads straight for them; Mitch elbows Auston back and tries to ruffle his hair.

"Bay," Kanon says, twisting in Molly's arms and reaching for Bozak, who sweeps him up. Kanon flails his hand back towards Dylan and Aiden. "Da, bay!"

"I can see that," Bozak says, grinning. "Did you have a play date, buddy?"

Mitch whips his head around.

Dylan picks one of Aiden's hands up and waves it at Mitch. "Surprise."

Mitch is in such a hurry he trips over his own feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Picking you up," Dylan says, letting Aiden's hand go. She promptly whacks him in the chest with it. "Uh. That's okay, right?"

Mitch wraps his arms around them both and hides his face in Dylan's shoulder.

"Hi," Dylan murmurs, pressing his face against Mitch's hair.

"Hi," Mitch replies, his voice muffled. "Missed you." It was only two days, but Dylan gets it. They're on the clock now.

Aiden growls between them, and they both pause for a moment before Mitch pulls back. "Did she just growl at me?" he asks, laughing a little.

"She did it to me earlier. Guess she watched too much of the Bruins."

"Daddy beat the big mean Bruins," Mitch says, taking Aiden out of Dylan's arms. He blinks a few times. "Dyls, this coat is gigantic."

Dylan snorts. "If you take it off she might bite."

Mitch's whole face lights up. "She's super protected against the cold right now," he says. "Do we have plans this afternoon?"

"Nah, we're all yours," Dylan says, just to make Mitch do that gooey-face thing.

He doesn't disappoint. "Let's take her skating," he says, beaming at Dylan and then down at Aiden. Aiden can't help beaming back at him, and Dylan's heart catches in his throat a little.

"She's a baby Leaf under all the layers," he says.

Mitch's eyes widen a little. "Can I see?"

"You're getting her back in the coat," Dylan says, shrugging.

"Deal," Mitch agrees. He doesn't waste any time unzipping her coat and tugging it off. Aiden flails enthusiastically. Mitch frowns. "How many layers are you wearing, baby girl?"

"She's an ogre," Dylan answers for her. "Ogres have layers."

"Ogres don't need to wear two sweaters over their clothes and under their coats," Mitch replies, wiggling Aiden's extra padding up over her head.

Aiden beams at him when her head pops back into view. "Gah!" she yells, bonking her head into Mitch's chest.

"Sorry," Mitch says. "Am I trespassing in your swamp?"

"Seriously, babe, she's gonna bite, it's a thing now," Dylan warns, just as Aiden opens her mouth to chomp down on Mitch's collarbone.

Mitch winces. "How does that hurt so much? She doesn't even have any teeth!"

Molly laughs from where she's bundling Kanon into his coat a few feet away. "It'll hurt more once she does," she promises.

"Nobody warned me about baby hickeys," Mitch complains, holding Aiden arm's-length away from his body.

She gives him her best gummy smile and kicks her feet in the air.

"You look so happy about injuring me," Mitch tells her, pouting dramatically. "Just like your papa before I won him over with my irresistible charm."

Aiden makes a funny face and giggles.

"Oh, it's on now," Mitch says, and blows a raspberry on her neck.

She shrieks right into his ear, and Dylan fakes a cough to hide his laughter.

"Okay." Mitch takes a deep breath. "One more layer, I can do this."

Dylan snorts. "Don't strain yourself."

"Don't bite Daddy," Mitch says sternly. Aiden blinks at him, a look of total innocence on her face.

Mitch peels off her sweater, and smiles so wide it looks like it hurts. "Aww, look at you," he croons, pulling her close and snuggling her but making sure her mouth isn't in biting position. "You're Daddy's little Leaflet, huh?"

"Ooooh," Aiden agrees.

"Marns," Auston calls. He's been lingering in the waiting room for whatever reason, but now he's holding his phone up. "Smile, man."

"Have you not seen his face?" Dylan teases. "If he smiles more he'll break something."

Mitch beams at Auston anyway, showing Aiden off for the camera. A moment later, Dylan's phone buzzes; sure enough, it's the photo, and it's too cute for words.

He tilts his screen so Mitch can see it. "Look at her."

"That's gonna be my phone background," Mitch says, smiling at it. "For at least an hour, because I bet we'll get some good ones with her on the ice, if you wanna go."

"Yeah," Dylan replies, trying not to choke up. "Let's go."


	36. Chapter 36

Mitch calls someone in management after they get packed into the car and gets the okay for them to go on the ice at the practice rink. Auston tags along to be their "official photographer," and Rielly tags along because his crush on Auston can be seen from space. Auston has to be the only one who doesn't see it, though Dylan isn't sure how he can miss it with all the looks he steals when Rielly's looking the other way.

"Hey, Momo," Mitch calls. Dylan's carrying Aiden and her baby equipment, and Mitch has his gear bag. "Can you grab Dylan's stuff?"

"Momo," Dylan says delightedly. "That's great."

Momo scowls. "For revealing that nickname? No."

Dylan holds his arms out. "Okay, then you take Aiden, and I'll get my gear."

Momo's eyes go comically wide, and he tries to duck behind Auston.

"The gear bag definitely won't bite you," Mitch says. "No promises on the baby."

Aiden chooses the perfect moment to let out one of her guttural growls. Auston loses it laughing, and Mitch isn't far behind. Dylan tucks Aiden in close so he can enjoy her baby giggles as Momo gives in and gets Dylan's gear bag.

Auston volunteers to take Aiden while Dylan gets his skates on, and Dylan chooses not to comment when Momo can't stop staring. Aiden is fascinated by the lock of Auston's hair that's pretty much always in his eyes, so he spends a few minutes shaking his head over her face just to make her laugh. If Dylan happens to sneak a video of them, nobody has to know.

Well, maybe Connor. He shares most of his Aiden videos with Connor, so he doesn't miss out.

Dylan heads over to take Aiden back so Auston can get his skates on too. It's no good having a photographer who can't go out on the ice with them. Mitch is practically vibrating in his gear by this point. "Ready to go, or do you need a few more minutes?" Dylan teases.

"Don't make me wait," Mitch whines. "Aw, I wish we had her bootie skates."

"We'll bring them for family skate," Dylan promises.

Mitch sighs a little. "I don't know if her giant feet will fit in them anymore," he says sadly, reaching out to jiggle one of said feet.

Dylan shrugs. "So we'll hang them from her gear bag."

"Her gear bag," Mitch echoes, grinning widely. "Is that what we're calling the diaper bag now?"

"It's heavier than Brinksy's bag," Dylan points out.

Mitch snorts. "Give her a month and she'll be taller than him."

Auston raises his eyebrows. "Look who's talking, Mitchy."

"Hey, at least I have to bend over to tie my own shoes," Mitch says, shrugging. "I can't vouch for Brinksy on that one."

Dylan beats a strategic retreat and heads for the ice.

"Wait, hey," Auston calls after him. "Let me get out there first, yeah? That way I can get you stepping onto the ice with her."

"Better catch up, then," Dylan calls back.

"Run faster than the dude holding a baby," Momo says. "Part of me feels like this shouldn't be a challenge, but the rest of me is telling that first part to shut up."

Auston clatters off, and Dylan sidesteps out of the way. He makes his way to the bench door and stops, checking Aiden over one more time. It's silly and he knows it; if she was going to holler her head off about the cold, she'd be doing it here just as much as when they're actually on the ice. He's a little afraid that she's not going to like it, though, so he fusses.

Mitch comes up next to him and gives Aiden a kiss on the cheek. "Ready to see where Daddy and Papa work?" he says softly.

Dylan smiles at him and then steps out onto the ice. He has his two favourite people gathered in his favourite place, and it's a lot to handle.

Aiden doesn't really seem to register that there's much going on; it's probably not all that different for her than walking around with Dylan. Mitch skates circles around them, excitedly explaining to her what everything is, but that's not so different either. Auston is taking a million photos, and Momo has his phone out, too. That's only different because Momo's not hiding behind Auston. It probably helps that there's no threat of someone asking Momo to hold the baby.

"Let's skate her for real," Mitch says, reaching out to poke at Aiden's cheek through all her winter gear. "Not, like, full speed, but let's see if she likes it."

Dylan picks up his stride, and Mitch keeps up easily. Aiden makes interested noises as Dylan shifts her around so she can see a little more of what's going on around her, and Mitch beams. "I knew you'd like it," he brags. "The ice is bright and shiny."

"Eyyyyy," she agrees, reaching out towards it.

"It's cold," Dylan warns her. "I'm not stopping so you can touch the shiny and decide it betrayed you."

"Buh," she says, wriggling in his arms.

Dylan ignores her terrible idea and picks up speed. She goes still and quiet, and Dylan's just getting ready to slow down and check on her when she starts full-out belly laughing.

Mitch trips over his own feet and tumbles to the ice.

"Daddy does that," Dylan informs Aiden, who's still laughing and waving her arms around as Dylan slows and skates close to the glass. It's dark in the stands, so it's easy for Aiden to see them reflected there.

She lurches forward to pat her hands on Dylan's reflection.

"Yeah, that's Papa," Dylan says. She pauses with her hands on his reflection and tries to turn, clearly not liking that Papa appears to be in front of her and behind her at the same time.

Her lower lip wobbles, and Dylan can't resist drawing her in close for restorative cuddles. She snuggles right up, and coos happily when Mitch skates up and joins in on the hug. Dylan's distantly aware that Auston's probably still taking photos, so he turns until Aiden's visible from centre ice but he doesn't break the hug.

Aiden pats Mitch's face, and he kisses her cheek. "Hey, my turn to skate with her."

Dylan hands her over easily, and hangs back to watch so he can get a good view of the two of them. Mitch holds her up close to his face so he can babble at her as they skate around.

"Okay, so he's like that all the time," Momo observes, skating up to Dylan.

"Yeah," Dylan confirms. "I mean, he mostly doesn't talk in his sleep?"

Momo snorts. "Well at least that's something." Aiden squeals loudly in reply to something Mitch said, and Momo blinks. "I guess it runs in the family."

"It does," Dylan says, laughing as Mitch rounds the corner with Aiden and he catches sight of her face. She's absolutely beaming, Marner smile out in full force.

Auston's skating backwards, camera clicking away. It's going to take forever to sort through the photos later, but Dylan's totally looking forward to it anyway.

-0-

Brinksy texts him a few mornings later. _boredddddddd send me baby pics!!!!_

Dylan sends him a few from Aiden's first skate and waits patiently for his reaction. It's just unintelligible keysmashing when it comes, which is honestly the perfect reaction. Aiden is just that cute.

_Skype?_ Dylan sends back, wiping spit up from Aiden's face.

_hell yes!! show me the cutie patootie,_ Brinksy demands.

Dylan grins. _gimme 5 mins to clean up lunch._ He has a Plan, and he wants Brinksy to be surprised.

_bet she's cute even with gross baby food all over her,_ Brinksy replies immediately, which is why he's Dylan's favourite.

_she's too little for people food,_ Dylan replies. _just like uncle brinksy._

_applesauce is the shit fuck off,_ Brinksy shoots back.

Dylan keeps Brinksy distracted with weak chirps while he gets Aiden ready, then he takes her back downstairs for her small screen debut. _ready when you are,_ he says when he's got the laptop situated just right.

Brinksy's beaming face fills the screen; his contact photo is from the draft, and he looks ridiculously tiny next to Hawks management. His whole expression drops when he sees Aiden, and he leans closer to the screen, looking a little awestruck. "Is she..."

"For one night only, she's a baby Hawk," Dylan confirms, grinning.

"Aw, Dyls," Brinksy says, voice soft as his grin overtakes his face. "She was already the best baby. You didn't need to bribe me."

Dylan raises Aiden's hand in a cheer. "She didn't get to say congrats when you signed your big contract, and she's been bugging me about it ever since."

"Eeeeee," Aiden shrieks.

"Thank you!' Brinksy says, clearly delighted. "It's always great to meet a fan."

She shoves her free fist into her mouth and grins around it.

"Seriously, man, it's awesome," Dylan adds.

"Thanks," Brinksy says, smiling wide. "I'm excited, y'know? Their training staff is killer, and they're good at training guys who aren't giant tree people like you."

"I guess they were kicking themselves for not signing you earlier, after the season you've been having," Dylan says. By the time the Blackhawks had figured out their mistake, Brinks'd had 40 points in 20 games. The Otters are looking strong, even without Connor and Dylan. Dylan's incredibly proud of what the guys there are doing. It's still early in the season, but he's quietly hopeful they can take it all the way again.

"So how's things in Toronto? How are you and Marns handling dad-hood?" Brinksy asks.

"Not gonna lie, it's the hardest thing I've ever done. Every day is like the playoffs, really intense but with way higher stakes if I mess up." Dylan pauses then, to kiss the top of Aiden's head. "But it's awesome, too. She's already kind of a troll like Mitch, and she'll sing along to almost anything, just like me."

"Awwww," Brinksy says, smiling. "I'm really happy for you, man. Even if everything was a little weird there for a while."

Dylan snorts. "Trust me, it's still weird. Kids are so random, you have no idea."

Aiden chooses that moment to try and shove her entire fist up Dylan's nose.

"Also, you actually can't set them up to prove your point on command," Dylan says, grabbing her fist and dislodging it. "So that totally proves my point."

He grabs her Hawks build-a-bear and waves it in her face, hoping to distract her from accidentally scratching his eye.

"Oh oh oh," she chants, reaching for it with both hands.

"Buh-buh-bear," Dylan corrects, even though it'll be months before she's anywhere close to real words.

"That is the cutest thing I have ever seen in my entire life, oh my god," Brinksy says, eyes wide as Aiden successfully grabs the bear and Dylan helps her settle it into her lap. Of course, she starts gnawing on it immediately, but Brinksy still looks appropriately charmed. "That's, like, a million percent the cutest."

"See what I mean? I'm tired all the time, and she's a pretty good baby but she's still a baby who needs baby things," Dylan explains, "but then she does stuff like _that_." He pauses. "Also, I'm a little worried that your math teacher let you graduate because she was sick of your face. How are you still so bad at math?"

"She's so cute," Brinksy says, ignoring the chirp. "I want to meet her so badly."

"I got the all clear from Davo for the post-Christmas invasion," Dylan informs him. Technically he didn't need permission to invite the team to the house, but Connor's always going to be his captain on some level, and they _do_ share the house.

Brinksy goes completely still, which is his version of Aiden's excited flailing. "So we can come over? I can hold her?"

Dylan grins. "We have a spare room. You can stay over if you want."

"You're the best captain," Brinksy says, leaning towards the camera. "I'm not gonna invite everyone. Like, just the guys who know you, right? So the salad brothers can come, but not the new kids."

"Okay, sounds good." The new kids probably wouldn't be interested anyway; Dylan certainly wasn't a baby hog at fifteen, sixteen.

"Mah," Aiden interjects, flinging her bear onto the floor.

Brinksy waves at her. "Oh, I'm sorry, were we not paying enough attention to you?"

"She's a princess like her dad," Dylan agrees.

"She's way cuter," Brinky says, smiling and wiggling his finger. "Aren't you, baby girl?"

Dylan's torn. He loves that she has Mitch's smile, but it _is_ super adorable that her eyes are starting to darken to something more like the Strome colour. She definitely has his hair, though. It never did fall out, and it's starting to get curly and poofy over her whole head.

"There's no-one like her," Dylan ends up replying.

"Obviously," Brinsky says, smiling as Aiden gums on her bear again.

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "No more bears for Christmas."

"A jersey," Brinksy bargains. "A real one with my name on it."

"She's two months old," Dylan counters. "She'll grow out of it by the new year."

"Not if I get her one she can grow into," Brinksy wheedles.

"Don't forget, I'm moving soon and I don't want to have to pack an entire mountain of baby clothes," Dylan points out.

Brinksy pouts. "Are you saying I can't get my favourite honorary niece a Christmas present?"

Dylan snorts. "I'm a dad now. I'm immune to pouting unless it comes with ear-splitting crying."

"Is that a request?" Brinksy asks, then takes a deep breath.

Aiden beats him to it, squealing at the top of her lungs because she's just realised her bear is out of reach. Brinksy loses it laughing instead, and it distracts Aiden for long enough to let Dylan get her bear back before she melts down.

"I'll give you my brother's address in New York if you promise not to go overboard," Dylan bargains.

Brinksy grins at him. "Deal."

-0-

Mitch probably asks Dylan half a dozen times if he's really okay with having a few guys over when the Yotes come into town. Eventually Dylan gives up trying to convince him with words, and just shows him a picture of Crouser's excited face. Then he brings up the text Dvo had sent him a few days ago, asking the exact same thing.

"See that thumbs up emoji?" Dylan says, pointing it out on his phone screen. "That's a symbol indicating a positive response."

"I just want to make sure it's not gonna upset you," Mitch says, frowning a little. "I know the Yotes aren't your favourite subject."

Dylan ruffles his hair. "I went to training camp with these guys last season. Getting along with them wasn't the problem."

Mitch sighs. "I know."

"And none of them had control over what happened to me," Dylan adds. "Plus I got Aiden out of it, and the Isles are closer to Toronto."

"I know," Mitch repeats. "But the team management still fucked you over big time, and these guys are part of that, sort of."

Dylan tilts his head. "Are you trying to talk me into being upset?"

"I'm trying to share every detail I thought of so nothing catches you off-guard if I can help it," Mitch says, shrugging a little.

"And that's sweet, but honestly I'm planning to spend half my time in the kitchen," Dylan tells him. "Like I said, I know these guys from training camp. But you've known Domi and Dvo a lot longer."

"We'll go out," Mitch says immediately. "I'm not bringing them here if you're gonna be uncomfortable, Dyls."

Dylan pinches the bridge of his nose. "We've been over this. When have I ever said I was uncomfortable? I just thought it'd be nice for you to spend some time with your friends, and show off our awesome kid."

"Hiding in the kitchen doesn't scream 'I'm comfortable with this,'" Mitch points out. "Look, I want to see the guys, but..." He sighs a little. "I feel like we're fighting over nothing. I just love you, okay, and I don't want this to suck for you, even a little."

Dylan leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. "Babe, you're forgetting about how much four hockey players with an average age of twenty can eat."

"I don't want you to be the kitchen slave, either," Mitch complains.

Dylan laughs, dragging Mitch into a tight hug. "A+, would husband again. But seriously, I'm fine; I'll tell you if I'm not."

"Okay," Mitch says, hugging him back. "If you're sure, then I'll invite them over for a little bit. And we can order in again; that place we had cater last time was good."

Dylan's eyes light up. "Can we get those potato things? With the herbs?"

"Um, clearly," Mitch says, laughing a little. "And the chicken with the garlic cream sauce. I thought Momo was going to kill Willy over the last piece of that."

Food turns out to be a much safer topic of discussion, and they draw up a wishlist in no time. Part of Dylan thinks they're going to have a million leftovers with how much they put on it, but then he remembers: hockey players. Now that Dylan's starting to get back into a workout routine, he's starting feel like an athlete again. It definitely means he and calories are starting to get super reacquainted.

Mitch calls the food order in and sweet-talks the person on the other end; you're technically supposed to give a 48-hour notice if you're ordering more than a couple meals' worth of food, but Mitch promises to tip well. Dylan waggles his eyebrows; he can tip well, too.

They eventually agree on a delivery time, and then Dylan gets Aiden up from her nap while Mitch cleans up the living room so they can have company tomorrow. Dylan's been spoiled this week, with Mitch in the middle of an extended home stand. This is as close as they get to a traditional nuclear family, and while he doesn't want to get too used to it, there's no denying how much he enjoys domestic moments like this.

They spend a nice afternoon together, and for once they get to take a family pre-game nap before Mitch has to go off and play the Sharks. Dylan kisses him for good luck before he leaves, and then he and Aiden have a good evening together. She yawns widely during pregame coverage, and Dylan posts on Instagram about her taking a bite out of the Sharks. Brinksy and Chris both like it immediately, and Dylan grins as he settles in to watch.

Aiden doesn't last long, and neither does Dylan. He puts her to sleep and then crashes himself.

Mitch wakes him up with a kiss, so Dylan figures the game wasn't too bad. "Love you, sleeping now," Dylan mumbles, rolling over. He leaves a bunch of the covers, so Mitch should be able to get to sleep fine. Mitch spoons up behind him, and Dylan drifts off with Mitch's smile pressed into his skin.

There's really nothing to do to prepare when they get up the next morning; the guys are coming for lunch, so Mitch decides to give Aiden a bath in the meantime. Dylan leaves them to their adorable bonding time, and doesn't bother hiding his laughter when Mitch ends up with his entire torso soaking wet. He doesn't look like he minds, though. Aiden's beaming, which probably has a lot to do with that. She's freshly napped, freshly fed, and she got to troll the shit out of her dad; life doesn't get any better for a baby. The guys coming over who will almost definitely let her whack them with her plastic keys will make it almost like Christmas.

"Ready to face your adoring fans?" Dylan asks her, stepping close so he can tickle her feet.

"Not quite," Mitch replies. "A girl needs the right accessories."

She's already decked out in full Leafs gear, including shiny barrettes in her hair. Mitch isn't subtle. "What else does she need?" Dylan asks.

Mitch grins. "Half the people coming over are Knights."

"Were," Dylan corrects, "but I see your point."

"It's not like I'm going to let them see her playing with a Yotes bear," Mitch says, disappearing up into Aiden's room. He returns a moment later with her otter knight bear.

Dylan laughs. "Okay, you win. You're the accessory king."

Mitch preens. "And don't you forget it."

Joke's on Mitch; he doesn't realise it yet, but he's just volunteered himself for hair bow duty for, like, forever. As if he can hear Dylan's thoughts, Mitch reaches down to fiddle with one of her bows.

"Okay, now I think she's ready for her closeup," Mitch says, eyeing her outfit critically.

Aiden blinks up at him and starts chomping on otter knight bear. Yup, she's a supermodel alright. Mitch takes a photo anyway.

The guys show up en masse, in two cars. Dylan's a little surprised they're this organised and coordinated, but then he sees Shane Doan. He's extra glad they over-ordered on the food now. Dylan waves from the front door and quickly checks to make sure he doesn't have any baby-related mess on his shirt. There's nothing visible on a quick scan, so he doesn't have to make a mad dash back to the bedroom before letting everyone in.

Crouser folds him into a hug, because that's just how he does things, and he won't let go until he's good and ready. Dylan slings an arm around his waist and grins as Domi and Duclair beeline for Mitch. It looks like they're going in for a tackle hug, but then Aiden babbles something from the sofa, and they both stop dead in their tracks.

"Wow," Duclair says. "She's an even tinier Leaf than you."

"I will make her throw up on you," Mitch says, but he's beaming.

Dvorak snorts. "I can't believe you two produced something that cute."

"Me neither," Crouser says as he finally lets go and turns around. "Oh my god, you guys, _look_ at her."

Doan hangs back, apparently content to let his gaggle of kids coo over Aiden. "How are you holding up?" he asks Dylan.

"Every member of this family is currently wearing clean clothing," Dylan replies. "It's a great day."

"That's a pretty major accomplishment." Doan beams, and holds his hand up for a high five.

Dylan laughs and obliges him. "Hey, food's in the kitchen," he says. "If you're interested in a head start."

"That's the only way I'll beat this bunch in a foot race," Doan says dryly. "Lead the way."

Dylan shows him into the kitchen, leaving Mitch and his friends in the living room with the main attraction. "So you did this four times?" he asks, pointing Doan at the plates.

"My wife did the hardest parts, but yeah." Doan starts serving himself food as they talk. "I wasn't too much older than you when Gracie was born."

"How do you just... go on road trips?" Dylan blurts out. "I mean, I have issues going to the grocery and leaving her with Mitch."

Doan grimaces. "Practice. You do it because you have to; it never gets easy, but it does get less awful. And their face when you come home is the best."

"Ugh," Dylan says feelingly.

"I know." Doan sighs. "One of my daughters got hurt a few years back, and I was ready to quit hockey to be there with her."

Dylan grips the edge of the counter hard. "That... I can't even imagine." Aiden's so small and so fragile.

"Having kids changes everything," Doan continues. "It gives you a whole different perspective."

"Yeah, that much I got already," Dylan says.

Doan sighs a little. "Look, part of the reason I wanted to tag along today was to say how sorry I am that we're not gonna get to play together. What happened… it really wasn't right."

"Thanks," Dylan says, the knot in his chest loosening up a little. "It really sucked, but honestly? The way things have turned out is better. I get to be closer to Mitch, and I get to play with my brother."

Doan smiles. "My brother would kill for the chance to do that."

"Does he play?" Dylan asks.

"No, absolutely not," Doan says, laughing. "He'd die if he had to do a bag skate. He's ten years younger than me, so he was pretty young when I moved away for Juniors."

"Ah, got it," Dylan says, smiling a little. "I know I'm pretty lucky to get to play with my family. Better that than against them, so it's working out."

Doan grins. "Tell me about it. Carey Price is my cousin."

"Ouch."

"Exactly," Doan agrees. "So yeah, better playing with your family than against them."

"I'll eat to that," Dylan says, piling potatoes onto his plate.

-0-

The Leafs come out with two of four points in their next two games, so everyone's in a pretty good mood at the holiday family skate. Mitch is adorably nervous about finally showing Aiden off in front of the cameras. They've both decided it's worth facing Toronto media, if only because Dylan's moving away with her soon. He spends forever agonising over how to dress her, holding different things up for Dylan to evaluate. Dylan bites his tongue and doesn't mention that it'll all be covered up with Aiden's gigantic coat anyway.

"Okay, forget it, you're useless," Mitch says eventually. "I'm FaceTiming Auston."

"Is he gonna be able to take a break from picking out his own outfit?" Dylan asks, raising an eyebrow. "Gotta figure out which pair of pre-ripped jeans best show of his assets, just in case today's the day Momo cracks."

Mitch puts his hands over Aiden's ears. "Someone's gonna be breathing heavy."

"Knees might be involved, too," Dylan says, grinning as Aiden starts batting at Mitch's hands.

"You know what? I honestly have no idea which one of them is going to crack first," Mitch tells him, shaking his head.

"Mo," Aiden yells angrily, whacking at Mitch's hand again.

Dylan cracks up. "Well, I guess Aiden's going with Momo."

"Momo's like a cat chasing a laser pointer," Mitch says, "and Auston is his shiny. But Auston's the big, sweet puppy who wags his tail when Momo pays him attention. I don't know who wins in kitten versus puppy."

"Everybody watching," Dylan decides. "For a while, anyway."

"And in the meantime we can torture Momo by letting Auston have all the baby cuddles he wants," Mitch adds. "Come on, Aiden. Let's make the call."

Mitch holds two shirts out, and Aiden blinks at them both before grabbing one of them. It's her teal dinosaur shirt, because of course it is. Then she grabs the other one, and Dylan cracks up laughing at the look on Mitch's face. Dylan pulls them away before she can stuff them in her mouth and pats Mitch's hand. "Just pick one, babe. She'll be cute either way."

"But I want her to be the cutest," Mitch complains. "Maybe I should put her in a Christmas dress."

"You can," Dylan says. They definitely have more than one of those.

Mitch nods. "Christmas dress. Reindeer headband. It's gonna be a thing."

Dylan holds one of Aiden's hands up. "High five for making a decision, Daddy," he croons.

Mitch rolls his eyes, but he high fives Aiden anyway because nobody can resist her.

Getting ready goes pretty quickly after that; Aiden is indeed the cutest thing in the world with her reindeer headband, and every time she moves and the little bells in it jingle, she giggles. It makes the drive over to the Mastercard Centre a little distracting, but Dylan sits in the back seat and takes a video of her so Mitch can replay the moment whenever he wants.

"You are too cute," Dylan informs her when they arrive. Aiden shakes her head a little, setting off the bells, and cackles.

Dylan cracks up too, and he has to stop filming because he can't keep the camera steady. It's a good thing Leafs TV are going to be around today, for sure.

"Time to skate," Mitch says as he parks the car and hops out. He's got Aiden's door open and is beaming at her before Dylan even has his seat belt undone. "Ready, baby girl?"

Aiden shakes her head and laughs in his face.

"I'll get our stuff," Dylan volunteers, grinning as Mitch lifts Aiden out of her seat. "It's all in the one gear bag, right?"

"Okay, thanks babe," Mitch says absently, all his attention on Aiden.

"And they said _I_ had baby brain," Dylan says, amused, as he climbs out of the car.

They head inside, and Dylan says hi to a few people he recognises, but he's mostly invisible next to Aiden's sheer adorableness. He's more than fine with that.

Mitch leads him to the Leafs' locker room to get ready, and Dylan has to take a deep breath before he steps inside. Sharing a locker room with Mitch isn't something he's going to get to have very often. He wants to remember it. And the fact that it's the Maple Leafs' room is... well, it's a lot.

"Hey," Mitch murmurs, bumping their hips together. "You good?"

Dylan just nods and edges around the logo on the floor. There's no way he's going to step on it his first time here.

Dylan sits down to put his skates on; he figures Mitch will trade places with him when he's done, but then Auston beelines for them, already in his skates. "I can hold her," he says, holding his hands out impatiently. "So you can get your skates on."

Mitch hands her over, and her headband jingles again. Sure enough, Aiden starts laughing, and Auston's whole face lights up as he laughs with her.

Behind him, Momo sits down on the bench and buries his face in his hands, helpless. Dylan feels a little sorry for him, but mostly it's just hilarious.

He gets his skates finished before Mitch does, so he makes his way over and sits beside Momo. "Words are useful," he advises.

Momo waves a hand in Auston's general direction. "How do you use words for that?"

"Yeah, okay, probably don't start out with how much you like watching him hold a baby," Dylan admits. "That could be coming on a little strong."

"Also, like. He's nineteen," Momo points out. "And he lives with his dad."

"Mitch and I are nineteen," Dylan says, shrugging. "It could work if you try. Don't jump him on his doorstep, though." He laughs at the look on Momo's face. "Seriously, Momo. I'm not saying marry the guy right now, but you could at least talk to him."

Momo raises his eyebrows. "We talk! All the time!"

"You know what I mean," Dylan says, nudging him as Auston walks towards them, Aiden smiling happily in his arms. "Your call, bud, but I'm telling you to go for it."

"Duly noted," Momo replies, eyes locked on Auston.

"Look," Auston says, leaning over so Aiden and Momo are face to face. He reaches up and flicks her headband, and Aiden scrunches her face up as she laughs. Auston beams.

Momo beams back at him, and it's almost like no-one else in the world exists. Dylan's almost tempted to take back his advice: the world isn't ready for these two to get together.

"Okay, skate time," he says loudly, lifting Aiden out of Auston's arms. "Ready to meet more of your adoring public, kiddo?"

Aiden coos at him and headbutts his collarbone, her antlers scratching his chin. Dylan shakes his head so they jingle, and she laughs into his collarbone.

"Yeah, I know, you were born camera-ready," he tells her.

"Let's skate," Mitch says, appearing at his side. He reaches over to poke Aiden's tummy. "Right, baby girl?"

"Right," Dylan answers for her, because if Mitch had his way he'd wait however long it takes for her to actually form words. He's so whipped.

"Can I skate with her this time?" Auston asks as they make their way to the ice. "Just for a couple minutes."

"Sure," Dylan says, "but Mitch gets first dibs this time since I had her last time."

Mitch cheers and holds his hands out, smiling at Aiden as he settles her against his chest. "Daddy dibs!"

Aiden replies with a long stream of babble, and Mitch nods seriously. "You're right, I am the best."

They keep talking as Mitch steps out onto the ice, gliding around with her in his arms. Dylan can't help but smile after them. If he'd ever dared to picture himself stepping out of the Leafs locker room and onto the ice there's no way he ever would've imagined it being like this, but there isn't a single part of this moment that he'd want to change.

-0-

There's a text from Connor when family skate finishes up. Dylan checks it while Mitch loads a sleeping Aiden into the back seat. _it got there!! omg you have to open it_

Dylan snorts. _not your secretary, davo._

Connor sends a string of random emojis. _it's for the best baby in canada,_ he replies. _merry christmas from aiden's favourite uncles!!_

Dylan can't help smiling. It's a week early, but between Dylan's family and Mitch's, Aiden won't be short on Christmas presents.

_we're on our way home from skate and she's napping,_ Dylan replies. _skype later?_

Connor sends back something like fourteen thumbs up emoji, so Dylan's going to take that as a yes.

The drive home goes without incident, and so does the family nap they all have after that. Aiden wakes up happy, and by the time she gets food she's on cloud nine. Dylan gives her a nice refrigerated teething ring to make sure she stays that way, and then he settles onto the sofa while Mitch goes to retrieve the package that Amazon had delivered for Connor yesterday.

"Ready for pre-Christmas?" Dylan asks her, trying in vain to smooth down her hair.

"Mmmmm," she says around the teething ring.

Mitch comes back brandishing the package. "I'm a little scared of how heavy this is."

"Davo didn't say anything about what was in it," Dylan says, eyeing it warily. "I thought it was something he ordered for him and Nuge, which is why I put it in their room to begin with. Now..."

Mitch raises an eyebrow. "Can we make embarrassing guesses in front of them?"

"Oh my god, yes," Dylan says gleefully.

Aiden grins at them around her teething ring, and Mitch gives her a low five.

"Let's get this show on the road," Dylan says, texting Connor. _ready when you are._

Connor's entire face fills the screen when his call comes through. A few seconds later, he leans away and Nuge waves from his spot beside Connor.

"Hi," Connor says softly. "Look at you, Aiden, you're so big!"

Dylan waves one of Aiden's hands at the screen. "Hi, Uncle Connor and Uncle Nuge!"

"How's St. Louis?" Mitch asks.

"Fine," Nuge says, shrugging. "Gonna be weird to play against Yak, but it is what it is, I guess."

Dylan winces. "Fortunately we have a cute baby to distract you."

"You sure do," Connor says warmly. "Is she ready for Christmas?"

Mitch snorts. "I don't know if any of us can really be ready for that. I've lost count of who's coming."

"I wish we could be there," Connor says. He sighs, and Nuge takes his hand.

"Next year for sure," Dylan promises. "It'll probably be more fun ‘cause she'll be able to open her own presents."

"Speaking of," Nuge says, grinning. "You should open it up. It's not wrapped or anything, but we picked it all out ourselves."

Mitch leans towards Dylan. "What do you think it is?"

"A character themed tooth brushing set," Dylan says promptly. "Gotta start good dental hygiene early."

"Nah, I think honeybunch is more creative than that," Mitch replies. "Team Canada snow boots, so New Yorkers remember where she belongs."

"Oooh," Dylan says, leaning forward a little bit. "Maybe it's a quilt made out of the jerseys of everyone who loves her."

Nuge snorts. "We would've needed a way bigger box for that."

"Good idea for her birthday, though," Connor adds. "Open the box, guys, come on."

Mitch doesn't need any further encouragement to tear it open, but he pauses when the sounds of ripping tape makes Aiden crack up. "I think you guys already got her the perfect present." He peels a long strip of tape up in short bursts, and by the time it's all unstuck, everyone's in stitches.

Mitch sticks a piece back down so Dylan can have a turn. He pulls it up slowly so it makes a hissing sound, then rips the last bit of it off quickly. Aiden wriggles in his lap and laughs her little head off.

"Okay," Dylan says eventually. "We're probably going to revisit the most awesome Christmas box later, but that's not what you're here for."

"We could have saved a bunch of money if we just sent her boxes and some packing tape," Nuge muses. "But yeah, there's stuff in there. Hopefully she likes it half as much."

Aiden whines a little when her favourite game stops, so Connor makes a ridiculous face at her. She reaches towards the screen and giggles, which makes Nuge make a different ridiculous face, and they get sidetracked yet again.

Mitch snorts. "Do I need to confiscate the baby?"

"Don't you dare," Connor says instantly. "We got her presents!"

"Oh right, there's something in the box." Mitch turns to Dylan. "Babe, did you know the box isn't the present?"

"Aiden, sweetie, I have terrible news," Dylan says, poking her tummy. "They put something inside your present."

"Ooooooh," Aiden complains, pushing her lips out as far as she can.

Nuge laughs. "You'll like it, kiddo," he says. "And if you don't, well, Uncle Connor and I will find something you do like."

Mitch opens the box and starts bouncing in his seat. "Look!" he says, pulling a brightly coloured box out of the plain Amazon box. "It's a kicky piano!"

Dylan can't help smiling. "You two can have dance parties."

"Oh my god, you're right," Mitch says, cradling the box and beaming down at it.

Connor leans close to the camera. "The website said it would help her with leg strength," he says. "And there was another site that said babies her age are starting to like listening to music, and you should give them rattles and stuff so they can play along. We thought making her own music would be fun."

Mitch looks like he wants to climb through the screen and hug them both. "It's too bad you're in St. Louis," Dylan observes.

"We'll be there as soon as we can," Nuge promises. "Keep looking in the box. There's more."

Mitch's eyes go wide, and he rummages through the box like it contains his post-game pizza. "Oh," he breathes a few seconds later. "Dyls, look. There's a ton of books in here."

Dylan leans over. "Aww look, Aiden. Your first library, in your favourite box."

"Board books," Nuge supplies. "She's still too little to rip pages out of things, but she'll get there. This way they have a better chance of lasting so she can read them over and over again."

"Thanks, guys." Dylan bounces Aiden in his arms. "Say thank you."

Aiden sticks her tongue out as far as she can, which is close enough.


	37. Chapter 37

The Bulldogs play in Oshawa right after Aiden's first pre-Christmas, and Matt texts Dylan as soon as his game is over. _coach says the bus can drop me in toronto so i can see you if you can meet me there!!!_

_we'll pick you up_ , Dylan promises, and then puts his phone on silent so Matty's explosion of joy won't wake Aiden from her nap early. She's gonna be excited enough while Matt's visiting; they don't need to start that any earlier than getting him from whatever their meeting spot is going to be. Sometimes Aiden gets sick of Dylan and Mitch's faces, so having someone new to charm will make her lose her tiny mind.

The plan is for Matt to spend the week in Toronto with Dylan, and then they'll return him to the Strome household on Christmas morning. If Dylan's honest, Aiden's not the only one looking forward to a new captive audience.

By the time Matt gets into Toronto, it's late. Mitch offers to pick him up anyway, but he's got morning skate scheduled for way too early, so Dylan tasks him with Aiden-sitting and drives to get Matt himself. When he pulls up to the curb Matt's bouncing on his toes with excitement. His face falls when he ducks his head into the car and there's no baby.

"Dude, she's sleeping," Dylan says, amused. "You can totally take the overnight food run when she wakes up crying, though."

Matt pokes his tongue out at Dylan. "Maybe I will."

"Excellent," Dylan says, turning the car around and heading back home. "I'm sleeping through it. You're on call." He's pretty sure Matt will end up panicking over bottle prep and waking him up, but it's worth a shot. He's got a whole week to get it down.

They get back to the house without incident, and Dylan even manages to direct Matt to the room he'll be using without them waking Aiden up. It's a Christmas miracle. He does have to get up with Matt when Aiden gets hungry, but Matt pays as much attention as he can while he's at least 75% asleep, so Dylan's got high hopes for the future. As per usual, Aiden grunts like a bear that's just woken up from hibernation as she destroys her bottle. She'd fit in perfectly in the locker room. Matt looks completely charmed beneath the exhaustion, though.

Dylan grins. "I'm tired all the time, but look at that face."

"It's the best face," Matt says, reaching out to brush his fingers against Aiden's cheek. She side-eyes him a little, like she's not sure if he's gonna try to take her bottle or not, but it doesn't stop her eating.

Matt snorts. "Got it, don't interrupt feeding time at the zoo."

"She'll probably try to bite you," Dylan says. "And she's getting teeth already, so I don't recommend that."

Matt chomps his teeth. "When she learns to swim she'll be Baby Jaws."

"She already is," Dylan says, tugging the empty bottle out of her mouth and bringing her up so he can burp her. "She'll splash you the second she gets in the bath, just wait."

Matt beams. "We have to have a pool party this summer, so Aiden can take out the McLeods." Like a true hockey player, Matt shows his affection through mild violence.

"You'll be busy with the draft," Dylan points out.

"Not in July, I won't," Matt says. "Or August. We'll find the time."

Aiden coos and buries her face in Dylan's shoulder. "Time to go back to your cave, huh?" he says softly.

"God, she's too cute," Matt says, lowering his voice. "Can I carry her up, or is she gonna cry if I take her away from you?"

"I'm more worried about her getting hyped up by New Person face," Dylan replies, trying not to laugh. If he starts up Aiden will copy him, and then she'll be way too wide awake. "You can take the next round."

"Sounds good," Matt says, yawning. "I'm gonna crash, but we'll play tomorrow, Aiden-baby."

Aiden's getting heavy in Dylan's arms, milk-drunk and starting to snore. She doesn't fight going back to sleep, and Dylan crawls into bed shortly thereafter. He's glad that she's learning how to sleep longer. Mitch turns over, mumbling something about donuts, but he settles when he's pressed up against Dylan.

"Shh, it's too early for breakfast," Dylan tells him.

Mitch just throws an arm across Dylan's chest and snuggles in. He's surprisingly heavy, and his breath on the side of Dylan's face is annoying. Dylan loves him so fucking much. He falls asleep smiling.

The morning is hectic, but with Matt around to wrangle Aiden, Dylan actually has time to kiss Mitch goodbye when he heads out for morning skate. Matt doesn't really want to give Aiden back after that, and Aiden seems pretty happy to stick with him, so Dylan lets them have some tummy time together.

When Matt isn't looking, he gets video of the two of them nose-to-nose. He's super glad he does, because Matt hasn't learned the vital teething lesson: don't put things you don't want bitten near the baby's mouth. He shrieks when she chomps at his nose, and Dylan loses it. Aiden shrieks back at Matt, indignant, and tries to roll away.

Matt reaches for her with the hand that he doesn't have clamped over his face. "Aiden, biting isn't nice!"

Aiden latches on and bites his finger.

"Holy shit," Matt howls, yanking his finger free. "Why is she actually a biting monster?"

Dylan wipes his eyes and tries to stop giggling. "Have you seen Mitch's teeth?"

"He doesn't walk around chomping people!" Matt exclaims, eyeing Aiden warily.

"Nope," Dylan replies, pasting on an innocent smile. "Not ever." Dylan absolutely did not have hickeys for a month after World Juniors

Matt turns to face Dylan, narrowing his eyes. "I don't want to know," he decides.

"Probably not," Dylan agrees. "Gimme my kid and then go inspect your wounds." He makes grabby hands.

Aiden squeaks loudly when Matt hands her over, and babbles a mile a minute. "I know, Uncle Matt's soft," Dylan replies. "You have to be careful with him." She goes to bite Dylan, but he's wise to her, so he holds her steady as he stands up. "How about a teething ring instead?" he suggests, heading for the fridge.

Aiden accepts, under growling protest

"No permanent damage," Matt announces as he walks into the kitchen. He pauses to take in the scene. "Wait, you have things she can chew on, and you didn't warn me before I played with her?"

"I didn't make you stick your face in front of her," Dylan points out as Aiden dribbles a disgusting amount of saliva down his arm.

"But you didn't tell me not to," Matt whines.

Dylan snorts. "Which one of us called her Baby Jaws last night?"

Matt points at his nose, affronted. "I look like Rudolph."

"He has a very shiny nose," Dylan says, holding Aiden up so she can see.

"Mmmmm," Aiden agrees.

Matt's expression melts. "Okay, if you say my name first, I totally forgive you."

Dylan snorts. "I'm not putting bets on yes or no, but she's definitely not saying it yet," he says. "Even if she is teething super early, she's not talking at two and a half months."

"Whatever, she's a genius." Matt leans close and sounds out his name. "Matt. Mmmm. Maaaaatt."

Aiden frowns at him and holds out her slobbery teething ring.

"Oh, thank you!" Matt exclaims, taking it gingerly. "What good sharing." He waves it around a little, then hands it back. "Can I share it back with you? And then go wash my hands?"

Dylan shakes his head. "Weak, bro. It's not like she has cooties."

Aiden grabs her teething ring and shoves it back into her mouth, and Matt promptly wipes his hand on Dylan's arm.

"You probably wiped your hand through a puddle of drool," Dylan teases.

Matt looks horrified, then rushes to the kitchen sink to throw the tap on.

"I can't believe he plays hockey and this is his reaction to a little drool," Dylan says to Aiden. "He has definitely seen worse. And smelled worse."

Aiden just keeps chewing, oblivious to the finer points of sibling bonding.

-0-

If he wasn't already acutely aware of how fast time is passing, Dylan would be shocked by the number of Christmas presents starting to pile up for Aiden. Apparently telling people not to go overboard doesn't count for a kid's first major holiday. They've got packages from pretty much everyone, Otters and Knights and Isles and Leafs. There are a bunch from people Dylan swears they've only played with a handful of times, and one that's wrapped in obnoxious red and black paper that Dylan's positive Hallsy had someone wrap for him. The ones from Mitch's little cousins have hand-drawn cards, and just looking at them makes Dylan's chest ache.

"This is a lot of stuff," Matt observes the morning Mitch leaves for his pre-Christmas road trip. It's only two games, but Dylan's glad Matt will be here for them.

"It's too much stuff," Dylan replies. "I'm hoping people will get it out of their system this year."

"I just hope everyone sent their receipts," Matt says. "There's no way there aren't repeats in all of that. Probably even threepeats."

Dylan sighs. "If they haven't, there's always eBay."

"Should we, like, sort it somehow?" Matt asks. "Will that help at all?"

"I guess we could put the family presents in one pile, and friends in another." Dylan's not exactly confident that will make it look less daunting. Matt nods energetically and dives in, though, so Dylan lets him have his fun.

Aiden's fascinated by the bright colours, but Dylan keeps her well out of reach. The last thing he needs is to explain to his grandparents why it looks like a rat tried to eat Aiden's presents. They'll definitely understand, but they'll also laugh a lot, and Dylan doesn't need that.

"What do you say, kiddo? Want to make some music?" Dylan asks her. When in doubt: distraction.

"Ooooooh," Aiden gushes.

As soon as Dylan brings her piano into view she starts making wild kicky-feet. She giggles and does her best to roll towards him as he sets it up. She's gonna be a menace once she's actually mobile.

Matt stops what he's doing to watch Aiden try out freestyle jazz. She goes right at it, kicking her piano with gusto, and Dylan takes out his phone to record her concert and also her audience. Connor and Nuge will love seeing how much Aiden loves their present.

Matt cracks up laughing. "I can't decide if that's the best present or the worst. She plays about as well as her dad sings."

"She loves it, so it's great," Dylan says. "If you give her a rattle, she keeps a beat, too." Not one that matches what her feet are doing, but hey, everybody starts somewhere.

Aiden warbles along, her little voice adding to the cacophony.

"Yay, Aiden," Matt says, raising his hands and dancing awkwardly around the living room.

"Where are the clown pants when we need them?" Dylan teases.

"We can call Mikey and ask him to bring them on Christmas," Matt suggests, bending over to boop Aiden's nose before he stands and starts dancing again. "Everyone can get in on this action."

He grabs Dylan's hand and drags him into the party. They dance around until Aiden stops kicking and starts whining, which means it's time for lunch.

"Don't bite me, Aiden," Matt says. "I have your bottle."

She makes an interested noise as Dylan scoops her up and they all head for the kitchen. "You'd better make it quick," Dylan advises. "She heard you say it, so you need to deliver."

Matt gets through it, under close supervision, and makes a clean pass. The bottle's in Aiden's mouth almost before she has time to complain. It's before she has time to work herself into a fit, at least, so she quiets down pretty quickly one she starts her bear noise routine.

"She's so gross," Matt says, beaming with pride as milk dribbles down Aiden's chin.

"She's a Strome," Dylan says, wiping it up with the hem of his shirt. "And a Marner. She had it coming."

Matt tickles her foot, and Aiden kicks him. He laughs again, and Dylan can't help but smile.

"It's still weird thinking of you as someone's dad," Matt says, shaking his head. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"Well, she lets me know if I screw it up. When she's not happy, she's loud." Dylan sets aside the empty bottle and gets ready to burp her.

"She bites, too," Matt says, grimacing a little. "Still. That's kind of scary."

"If you want scary, you should've been here the first time she got sick," Dylan confesses.

Matt looks like he wants to be sick himself at the thought. "Oh, man."

"She was snuffly and pathetic," Dylan tells him. "She wouldn't let me put her down for like three days."

"Aww," Matt says sympathetically. "She needed Papa to make her feel better."

Dylan cuddles Aiden close, and she gets a tight grip on his shirt. "It freaks me out sometimes thinking about all the things I can't protect her from, and all I can do is just... try not to think about it."

"Legit," Matt says, nodding. "I don't blame you."

Dylan swallows hard. "I still need hugs, too."

"Your husband better not be a hug miser," Matt says threateningly, but he walks right up and wraps Dylan and Aiden in his arms.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "Mitch isn't a hug miser; I'm a hug fiend. When you're around a tiny baby all the time you can't help it; hugs just happen."

"Hugs should always just happen," Matt says, still holding on.

"I'd say 'have a baby,' but don't do that," Dylan says. "Just borrow mine, I guess." Aiden hums to herself and headbutts Matt in the shoulder. "That means she loves you," Dylan interprets.

"Oh, baby girl," Matt says. He steps back a little bit and transfers Aiden into his arms before stepping back into the three-person hug. "Uncle Matty loves you too."

Okay, that's just unfair. No-one warned Dylan that being a parent would mean he has to watch his little brother turn into an uncle. He wraps his arms around Matt and Aiden, watching as she beams her patented Marner smile right up at Matt. It's a lot to handle.

"Best Christmas ever," Matt says quietly, and Dylan has to agree.

-0-

Christmas itself is a little bit of a shitshow. A fun one, but a shitshow nonetheless. When you gather that many Stromes and Marners in one place, Dylan figures, it kind of has to be.

He called his mom as soon as Aiden woke up, because she insisted, and now Matt's doing a reasonable impression of a sloth. Seventeen-year-olds aren't built for waking up pre-dawn on Christmas Day, or any other day. He finally rises when Dylan bribes him with cinnamon rolls. "They're in the oven, and Mitch and I will eat all of them if you don't come down soon," Dylan says.

Matt makes a sound that's pretty close to Aiden's hungry bear growl, and Dylan can't help cracking up.

"You can pick out Aiden's first present of the morning if you're ready before Mom gets here," Dylan adds before he heads back towards the kitchen.

Mitch, shockingly, is dancing Aiden around the kitchen to Christmas music. She's singing along with him, kicking him in the ribs as they dance. This is so far from where Dylan was a year ago that he might as well be in the KHL, but in this moment he has no regrets.

"All I want for Christmas is," Mitch sings along with Mariah Carey, taking a deep breath. Dylan is really hoping he's not gonna try for the high note. "Youuuuu," he sings, thankfully not screeching, spinning Aiden in a slow circle while she giggles. He looks up at Dylan and beams. "And you. I guess I win Christmas."

"Ooooo," Aiden sings along, making grabby hands for Dylan.

"Oooooh," Dylan agrees, picking her up and giving her a little spin. The song changes, and Dylan laughs a little before he starts singing along. "Merry Christmas, baby."

"I think I'm going to vomit," Matt says, shuffling in to join them. He's still wearing his pajamas. "Did you make a playlist of songs with 'baby' in them?"

"Nope, Pandora just loves us," Mitch says. "Merry Christmas, Matty. Probably wait a minute for the rolls to cool before you try to eat one."

Matt shuffles over to the coffeemaker, eyes half closed.

"Help him," Dylan mutters. "I like that coffeemaker."

Mitch slings an arm around Matt's shoulders and starts whistling. Matt shoots him a poisonous look. "Why are you like this?"

Mitch beams. "When you have a kid, you reach a point of tired where it's like being high on hydrocodone. I feel no pain right now."

"Would you like me to step on you?" Matt offers. "Just to test your theory out."

"Would you like to make your own coffee?" Mitch replies.

"Don't make me do that," Matt whines. "I'm your favourite little brother, come on."

Mitch facewashes him. "You're my only little brother."

"I'll take default favourite if it gets me coffee," Matt says, draping himself over Mitch's shoulders. He's way too big for it to be comfortable for either one of them, but Dylan knows Matt well enough to know he's committed to it now.

"Let's sneak out while they're busy," Dylan stage-whispers to Aiden. She shrieks and grabs at Dylan's face, laughing her head off. So much for subtlety. "Grandma's going to be here soon. Let's get you Christmassy."

"Ooooooh," Aiden says, snuggling up. Everything's exciting when you've only been in the world for ten weeks.

Dylan carries Aiden upstairs and holds her in front of her closet. They have a few different Christmas outfits for her; she's gonna spit up all over herself at least twice, so they bought extras. "Which one?" Dylan asks.

Aiden doesn't even look, she just keeps trying to burrow closer. "Papa's warm, huh," Dylan says softly. There's a knit red dress with sparkly threads woven in. If Aiden's willing to let Dylan get some leggings on her, that might be the way to go; it's pretty warm-looking. 

He wins the battle, just barely, and when he gets back downstairs Mom and Dad have arrived with a very jet lagged-looking Ryan.

"Hey, Merry Christmas," Dylan says, and Ryan's face brightens when he sees Aiden.

"Mom called first dibs," Dylan warns him.

Mom looks at Ryan appraisingly as he wilts again. "Two minutes," she decides. "Then I get her, no arguing."

Ryan scoops Aiden out of Dylan's arms and pretty much bounces out of the room, probably to FaceTime JT from two suburbs away.

"I'll give him five," Mom says longsufferingly before smiling at Dylan. "Merry Christmas, sweetie."

Dylan submits to a hug with a smile on his face. He's been taller than his mom for a few years now, but he finally gets why she still gets a weird look on her face when she has to reach up. It should be illegal for kids to get bigger.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbles into her shoulder.

Mom pulls back and pats him on the shoulder, smiling like she can read his mind. Then she spots Matt and raises her eyebrows. "That's what you're wearing for our first family Christmas with Aiden?"

Matt looks down. He's got crumbs all over the faded Ice Dogs tee that definitely came from Ryan. "Uh, no?" he guesses.

"Good answer," Mom says. "When you come back you're going to be ready for pictures."

Matt grimaces. "Why doesn't Dylan have to?"

"I just came back down for baby handoff," Dylan interjects. "And now that Ryan's hogging her, I'm going back upstairs to change."

"A likely story," Matt grumbles, but he heads upstairs.

Dylan snickers a little. "Man, I miss Morning Matt some days."

"You haven't had enough after an entire week?" Dad teases, pulling Dylan in for a hug of his own. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Morning Matt is hilarious," Dylan says, hugging him before stepping back. "I gotta change before he does or I'll never hear the end of it."

There's one flaw in that plan: Mitch is upstairs changing too. "Mmmm, hi," he says when Dylan stops and stares for a minute. "Think we can get away with a few minutes alone?"

Dylan beams. "Aiden's happy, and the only other person up here just tried to throw me under the bus."

Mitch grins and drops the sweater he was about to pull on, walking towards Dylan. "Christmas makeouts," he declares, settling his hands on Dylan's hips.

"Who needs mistletoe?" Dylan leans down and puts his money where is mouth is. Or maybe the opposite.

They break apart when someone bangs on the bedroom door. "You'd better come downstairs or I'm telling Mom you're ditching her for sex," Matt says.

Mitch moans really loudly. "Yeah, Dyls, like that."

"How do you think she had three kids?" Dylan yells back.

There's a moment of silence, and then a truly offended noise from the other side of the door. "Don't ever make me think about Mom and Dad doing that again," Matt says.

"Multiple times," Dylan adds.

"No, stop," Matt wails. His voice gets quieter, like he's moving away from the door. "You guys are the worst. Un-merry Christmas to you."

Mitch snickers and squeezes Dylan's hips. "Guess we should join the party."

Dylan leans down to steal one more kiss. "Yeah, trolling Matty by talking about my parents' sex life really gets me out of the mood. I mean, you're hot, but..." They retreat to opposite side of the room to put clothes on.

Ryan whistles when they make their way downstairs, and Dylan shoots a glare at Matt.

Mitch just grins. "Hey Ryan, is that a hickey?"

Ryan slaps a hand over his neck, then narrows his eyes at Mitch. "Wait. No." He comes over to ruffle Mitch's hair, and Mitch ducks behind Dylan.

Dylan's not playing body shield; he loves Mitch, but Ryan pinches. The doorbell rings, giving him the perfect excuse to run for it. "Don't leave me here with him!" Mitch yells, but Dylan's already halfway to the door. Mitch squawks a moment later, so Ryan definitely brought his pinching fingers.

"Merry Christmas!" Chris says brightly when Dylan opens the door. 

"If you want to save your brother, follow the squawking," Dylan tells him. "If you want to see a cute little Christmas elf, follow me."

"Elf," Chris says instantly. "Mitch can fend for himself."

His eyes bug out when he sees the pile of presents. Dylan pats him on the back, laughing. "We're going to be here for a while."

-0-

Aiden loves the present-opening part of the day, mostly because there's a lot of shiny paper and bows to dangle in front of her face. Next year she's probably going to have a religious experience with the boxes. She doesn't get to play with much of the actual stuff; there's too much of it, and Dylan and Mitch are more concerned with keeping track of who sent what so they can send thank-yous than they are with making sure Aiden gets to play with all of her toys the day she gets them. She gets all the cuddles her tiny heart could possibly want, and their families take so many photos Dylan's starting to wonder if he should've gotten her a pair of baby sunglasses.

Still, she cuddles right up when Mitch takes her from his mom as the Marners are getting ready to leave. "Aww," Bonnie says, smiling at them. "She loves Daddy."

"She's tired," Mitch replies, bouncing her a little.

Aiden balls her fist into Mitch's shirt and yawns, blinking slowly.

"Okay, five minutes for being a snuggle bug," Paul says, his eyes crinkling. "We'll let you boys put her down for a nap. Have a good afternoon."

"Have a good sleep, sweetheart," Bonnie adds, giving Aiden a quick kiss.

Aiden sighs, high and whiny, and Mitch walks her into the kitchen for a pre-nap bottle while Dylan sees the Marners out. Mitch's grandparents hug him tight, which is a little weird. Dylan's still getting used to his new double-size family. They're nice, which he was totally expecting, but it's still a little strange.

"Take care of that boy of yours," Mitch's grandma says, smiling at him. "Lord knows Mitch needs someone to keep his feet on the ground."

"I'll do my best, ma'am," he says. "Aiden and I both will."

She laughs. "Have a good holiday, Dylan. I stashed some extra cookies on the top shelf of the pantry."

" _Thank_ you," Dylan says fervently. She'd brought some sort of soft fudgy chocolate monstrosity covered in powdered sugar, and Dylan is kind of unsure what he's going to do without them in his life now that he knows they exist.

Bonnie openly laughs at the look on Dylan's face. "Don't tell Mitch they're there, or they won't be," she warns.

"If I hide the stepladder they're all mine," Dylan says, 100% serious.

"He will climb the shelving," Paul says, equally serious.

Dylan raises his eyebrows. "Thanks for coming, but I have to run." It's a man's right to defend his cookies. He can hear the Marners laughing as they head out and close the door, but he's on a mission now. He glances into the living room, makes sure Mitch is very busy feeding Aiden, and goes to find a better hiding spot for his treasure. The laundry room is probably safe.

"Man, that was awesome, but I'm glad it's done," Mitch says when Dylan sits next to him on the sofa, cookies safely hidden.

"Not quite done," Dylan corrects him.

"Done with the parts we need to be wearing real person pants for," Mitch amends. "I vote we change into sweats before we do the last of the presents."

Dylan sighs. "You're the best." Mitch tilts his head up for a kiss, and Dylan obliges.

They spend some quiet time, just the three of them; it's really nice. They saved all of their presents for each other, but Dylan's in no rush to get to them.

"She only got through two outfits," Mitch says wistfully. "And we forgot about the reindeer horns."

Dylan kisses him on the cheek. "She did get to wear them at family skate, but we can play dress up if you want. No-one's here to stop us." Aiden snores loudly, and Dylan grins. "Aiden the Sleeping Reindeer," he suggests.

She doesn't wake up when they put the headband on, so they prop her in front of the tree and get some more photos. Mitch captions it _santa should pay double for overnight shipping_. Connor likes it immediately, followed by Nuge, and from there Mitch's phone dings softly in the background with various friends and family members cooing over Aiden. Next they set up a goofy shot of her lying on a blanket, snoring obliviously as they pile wrapping paper around her. That one gets an elf rights hashtag.

Connor texts Dylan as Mitch is posting one of her surrounded by the five reindeer plushies they'd opened this morning. _omg you need to stop she's too cute i'm dyingggggggg_

Dylan can tell the moment Connor sees #WhoNeedsUber: he texts Dylan a string of skull and crossbones emoji. _how's xmas with the in laws?_ Dylan sends back as Mitch looks around for more props.

Connor sends back a blushing face that probably isn't anywhere near as bright as real life. _really good._

_get anything good??_ Dylan sends back, grinning. Hopefully Nuge got him something ridiculous. He keeps horses; that would be _hilarious_.

_drais sent a bunch of presents for ryan's dog???_ Connor replies, and Dylan can't help cracking up.

_gotta love teammates,_ Dylan manages. _anything nice from the bf? you're killing me here_

_you killed me first._

_are you avoiding the question?_ Dylan asks suspiciously. _i can and will ask sugarplum if you won't tell me._

When Connor replies _tell me what mitch got you first_ , Dylan only gets more suspicious.

"What did you get me?" he asks aloud. "Davo's being weird. He won't tell me what Gingersnap got him."

Mitch tosses him an envelope. "Merry Christmas, husband."

Dylan grins and opens it, then gasps a little. "Babe."

Mitch blushes. "I had to. The Isles are in Toronto on Valentine's Day."

It's a reservation for a suite at a super fancy hotel near the ACC the night before the Isles play the Leafs. Dylan has no idea if he'll be playing at all by then, let alone up with the Isles, but Mitch's faith in him will never cease to make him choke up a little.

"Mine's not that fancy," Dylan says, sniffling a little.

Mitch digs the envelope out of the pile and smiles when he opens it and finds a gift certificate. "This is perfect," he says, making his way over so he can wrap Dylan in a huge hug. "Now I can get my Aiden tattoo."

"That way she's always with you," Dylan agrees.

"I was thinking I'd get one with our anniversary, too," Mitch says quietly, playing with the hem of Dylan's shirt. "What do you think?"

Dylan squeezes him tight. "I think it's a good thing Matt went home with my parents or he'd be making gagging noises at us."

Aiden makes a snuffling noise in her sleep, and Dylan belatedly remembers: he and Mitch were going to swap baby presents. He can't wait for Mitch to see the little Mikkelson jersey he got for her; she's gonna be adorable in her new Inferno getup. Dylan sends a quick update to Connor, then tosses his phone aside so they can unwrap more stuff for Aiden.

"She's the most spoiled baby ever," Mitch says fondly.

"Yes," Dylan says seriously. "She has too many uncles. I think we might need to prune her family tree, or her dads aren't gonna be able to give her anything she doesn't already have."

Mitch shrugs. "As long as she likes it, that's what counts. And right now her criteria are bright, snuggly, splashy, or edible."

"Loud," Dylan adds. "Don't forget loud."

"Damn, I knew I should've gotten her that plastic chainsaw," Mitch replies, grinning.

"There's always... Easter?" Dylan says, shrugging a little.

Mitch sighs. "We'll have to eat the chocolate and candy for her."

"Oh, damn," Dylan says solemnly. "How will we survive?"

"I don't know," Mitch says, waggling his eyebrows, "but we'll have fun figuring it out."

-0-

The Otter invasion is set for two days after Christmas, so Dylan and Mitch spend as much time hockey-proofing the house as they can. Mostly it involves hiding the stack of framed photos Judi McLeod brought over; Dylan doesn't need to let his Otters see proof of the multi-year Strome/McLeod cuddle piles. He also makes sure there are a ton of extra hand towels in the bathroom. Some days it's better not to ask, but it's always better to be prepared.

It's safe to say nobody's more excited about the party than Brinksy. He ghosted for a couple of days after getting cut from Team USA, but the pics of Aiden's epic Christmas on Instagram seem to have cheered him up. Dylan can't blame him; USA Hockey is kind of a fucking mess right now, but it's World Juniors. Not being there cuts deep, no matter what the reason, but Dylan's reason is cute and totally worth the sacrifice, whereas Brinksy had no control.

Dylan's glad he can give Brinksy a little bit of a distraction, at least. He texts a photo of Aiden a couple hours before Ottermas is supposed to start, dressed in an Otters onesie, and Brinksy replies with unintelligible keysmashing and twelve unrelated emojis. Dylan promises to let him hold her first, and then shuts off his phone so it won't explode.

Thankfully, the food arrives just before the hockey players do. It's awesome to see everyone again, and weird to find out how much hasn't changed. Dylan feels like he's lived a lifetime in the past six months.

"Before you break anything, just remember this is Davo's house," Dylan warns.

"Psh, Davo," Darren says dismissively. "This is Baby Otter's house. We'll be good."

Aiden's bundled up in Mitch's arms, and she squeaks right on cue.

Brinksy throws a hip check on Darren and pretty much runs to stand in front of Mitch. "Stromer gave me first dibs," he says excitedly. Then he freezes with his hands a foot away from Aiden, his expression screaming "wait, shit, I have no idea how to do this."

"Sofa," Mitch advises. "Sit down. We'll take care of the rest."

Brinksy nods and walks over to the sofa, stiff-limbed like a zombie. "I don't want to drop her," he says uncertainly as Mitch approaches.

Dylan snorts. "You literally can't drop her." He positions Brinksy's arms so most of Aiden's weight will be in his lap. "See?"

Mitch bends down and arranges Aiden in Brinksy's arms, then shoves the throw pillows into the appropriate spaces. He and Dylan step back and watch.

"Um. Hi," Brinksy says, staring at her awkwardly.

"Ohhhhhh," Aiden says, blinking up at him. She studies him for a moment, then breaks out her million-watt smile.

Dylan grins. "She remembers your voice."

Brinksy's whole expression goes gooey and happy. "Yeah? You know who I am, baby girl?"

She shoves her fist into her mouth and giggles at him, which is the moment Dylan realises that he's gonna have to make sure Brinksy doesn't try to take her home with him.

Brinksy laughs. "Yeah, your parents make me feel like that sometimes, too."

"I can take her back," Mitch threatens, absolutely no heat in his voice.

Darren elbows past him and flops down onto the sofa next to Brinksy, leaving the Kyles to wrestle over the last spot. Pettit wins, but Maks just sits in his lap, so Dylan figures it's a draw.

"Captain should get the next dibs," Pettit tries to argue.

Maks frowns. "Am I not enough for you?"

"I've actually held a baby before, so I get next dibs," Darren announces.

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Have you held one since Taylor was born?"

"Yes," Darren says, narrowing his eyes at Dylan. "Cousins, dude. Lots and lots of cousins."

"You can pry her from my cold dead hands," Brinksy declares, leaning towards the Kyles.

Maks leans over into Brinksy's space. "Hey there, Aiden. I'm Kyle. I like your shirt." He tickles her, and Aiden wriggles in protest.

"Don't _do_ that!" Brinksy says, eyes wide.

He leans back towards Darren, who reaches out and puts a calming hand on Aiden's belly. "Don't give Uncle Alex a heart attack, he's too young."

Aiden eyes him curiously, but she settles down.

Brinksy keeps looking at her like she's a living time bomb. A cute one, sure, but one that's gonna go off at any second nonetheless. Eventually he lifts his head and mouths 'help' at Dylan.

Dylan snorts as he swoops in to grab her. He surveys the rest of them before making the non-hockey-pile decision and handing her to Darren.

"Hey," Darren says softly. "This is so weird. You're an actual person, and your dads have been keeping you alive."

She whacks him in the chest, and Mitch snorts. "She doesn't like it when you diss us," he says.

Darren grins. "I'll keep that in mind."

The Kyles start scuffling a little, and Aiden looks over at the noise.

"You don't want anything to do with those stinky boys," Brinksy informs her, apparently over his terror now that someone else is responsible for keeping her alive.

"Hey!" Pettit protests. "I'm your captain. I don't stink."

Mitch laughs. "As someone who has been a captain: those things can go hand in hand."

Pettit turns to Dylan for help.

"Nope!" Dylan says quickly. "If you want a captain tiebreaker, call Davo."

"We can do that!" Brinksy, says, lighting up. "Oh man, he doesn't have a game for a couple days still. He should totally be part of this."

He pulls out his phone and starts texting. A minute later, his phone starts ringing, and Brinksy answers with a huge grin on his face. "Davo! Merry Christmas from your favourite liney ever! And the world's cutest baby." He swings his phone towards Aiden, and Dylan catches a glimpse of Connor's face. They must be FaceTiming.

"Hi Aiden," Connor says, impossibly soft.

Aiden squeals and flails her arms towards the phone.

"I miss you too," he promises. "You look great, though. Best team in Juniors."

"Hey!" Mitch protests. Everyone in the room gives him a look, and Brinksy turns the phone around so Connor can, too. Dylan just watches as Connor shakes his head.

"You're super outnumbered, babe, sorry," Dylan says, slinging an arm around Mitch's waist.

Aiden coos and turns her head to get a mouthful of Darren's shirt.

"Whoa there," Darren says, holding her away from his chest. "I heard you're a biter."

Connor starts laughing. "Yeah, she's a menace. Don't get between her and food."

"Awesome," Pettit says, tipping Maks off his lap. "Lunch is the best, 'cause you get to sleep in before it."

Brinksy looks at Aiden, then at Dylan, then back at Aiden. He's squinting a little, which means he's thinking. "Is feeding her hard?" he asks hesitantly.

Dylan can't help it; he cracks up. "Weak, dude."

"If she's gonna wiggle all around, I don't want to drop her," Brinksy protests. "But, like, if it's not hard, can I?" He hands his phone to Pettit and jumps up from the sofa. "Please, Stromer. I promise times infinity that I won't drop her if she stays still."

"Did he pass math?" Connor wonders, and Pettit snorts.

Dylan glances at Mitch, who's biting his lip to keep himself from cracking up. "Sure thing, man," Dylan says. "C'mon, we'll go make a bottle, and then I'll show you how it's done.


	38. Chapter 38

Mitch leaves for a short road trip while World Juniors takes over the ACC, so on the day of the Canada-Latvia game, Dylan bundles Aiden up in as much Team Canada gear as he can and heads to the McLeod house.

Judi opens the door with the biggest smile on her face. "There's my girl!" She takes Aiden effortlessly out of Dylan's arms, then leans in to kiss his cheek. "Come on in, sweetie. We're kind of nuts around here at the moment, but it's great to see you."

"It's kind of nuts at my place all the time," Dylan confesses. "We're still wading through the Christmas mountain."

"I'm definitely not going to help with that problem," Judi says, laughing as she leads him in. "We might have gotten you and your little girl a few gifts."

Dylan freezes. "Please tell me it's not more bears."

"It's not bears, plural," Judi hedges. "And it went with the theme, so you're going to have to deal with just one more."

Dylan looks to Big Matt and Little Ryan for help, but they both slump down in their seats on the sofa and pretend they can't hear the conversation. Traitors. He's definitely remembering this for when they have kids.

"Sit down," Judi commands him. "Your mother and I thought it'd be nice to continue family tradition."

Monday's Canada-Russia game is on the TV; Dylan already knows the score, and he definitely watched most of it live, but it's nice to settle into the McLeod's sofa and watch Canada win in the environment he's done it in so many times before.

Judi settles Aiden in his lap—"Just for a minute, I'm not done with her yet"—and picks up a camera.

"Wait, let me take her coat off," Dylan says. "She's all Team Canada under there."

Judi shakes her head, openly laughing at him, but she waits.

"Okay, that's pretty cute," Big Matt grudgingly admits when he sees her onesie.

"There's a matching headband, but she wasn't feeling it when we left," Dylan says. "It's in her diaper bag in case she changes her mind."

Aiden blows spit bubbles for the camera; Little Ryan decides she's his new best friend. He keeps poking her foot and she keeps kicking at him. Dylan lets them play as Judi snaps photo after photo.

"He'll probably do that for hours," Matt says, turning his attention back to the screen. "Ryan's finally met someone who's on his level."

"I'd rather look at her face than yours," Ryan returns.

"Don't listen to them, honey," Judi says, scooping Aiden up again. "They're bad influences."

Dylan steals her camera and snaps a photo. "Mikey's gonna love this."

"Uncle Mikey's afraid of babies," Judi croons, smiling down at Aiden. "He told me holding you was the scariest thing he's ever done."

Matt snorts. "Good. I'm too young to be a real uncle."

"I can revoke your honourary uncleship if you're not into it," Dylan says sweetly.

"You wouldn't do that to my mom," Matt counters.

"I didn't say anything about your mom," Dylan points out. "Or Mikey, or Ryan. This is a Matt-only get out of uncle free card. Take it now, or forever hold my kid."

Matt shakes his head, grinning. "I'm not sold on the baby thing, but someone needs to make sure she grows up to be cool."

Aiden giggles; sometimes Dylan's baby is a traitor.

"Right, that's totally going to be you," Ryan says, reaching past Dylan to punch Matt in the arm.

"Not gonna be you, that's for sure," Matt says, snorting as he pinches the inside of Ryan's forearm.

Dylan's helpless to escape the ensuing slap fight, so he tries to lean back out of the way.

"Boys," Judi says, amused. They freeze for a moment, and then Matt topples into Dylan's lap. Ryan cracks up, but Judi's mom powers mean that she barely cracks a smile. "How about we give Dylan and Aiden their presents?"

Ryan leaps to his feet. "I'll do it!"

Matt rolls his eyes, pushing himself up. "It was my idea," he mutters. "But whatever."

Dylan exchanges a look with Judi. "Have we always been like this, and I just didn't notice?"

"Yes," she says immediately. "Except more often than not, there were six of you."

"I'm so sorry," Dylan replies, completely serious.

Judi laughs and bounces Aiden a little bit. "Oh, no worries, Dylan. The great thing about parenting is that when it comes to grandparenting, you get sweet, sweet revenge without having to lift a finger."

"Wow. You're a lot more evil than I thought." Dylan vows never to let anyone mess with Judi again. For their own good, really.

She smiles. "It comes with time, hon. You'll get here."

Dylan bites his lip. "That means Aiden gets to grow up. I don't know if I'm okay with that."

"Oh, sweetie," she says sympathetically. "That one... it does get easier, but not much. Sorry." She laughs after a moment. "You're not gonna miss diapers, though. I promise that."

"Oh my god, they're the worst!" Dylan exclaims. "How'd you do it three times?"

"Practice and sharing," Judi replies. She glances down at Aiden. "And speaking of, actually... where's her diaper bag?"

Dylan shoots to his feet. "Sorry, I should've known dressing her up would tempt fate."

"Sharing," Judi reminds him. "I can handle a diaper, Dylan. Where's her bag?"

"Wait, wait," Ryan says, coming back into the room. "Can we do presents first, or is it super smelly?" He's holding two rectangular boxes, one big and one small, and a wrapped shape that Dylan would know anywhere.

Aiden whines and wriggles, clearly uncomfortable.

"That's a no, sorry," Dylan says, shaking his head. He picks up the diaper bag and holds it out to Judi. "You're sure you don't mind?"

Judi smiles. "You go ahead and open presents while your hands are still clean."

He sits back on the sofa, and Ryan eagerly hands him the wrapped bear. "Oh boy, I wonder what it is!" Dylan takes his time unwrapping it, just to make Ryan antsy.

He's expecting a McLeod-branded Steelheads bear, but instead, the bear is wearing Team Canada gear. He turns it over and yup, there's Mikey's number. "Should I throw it on the ice when he gets a hatty?" Dylan asks.

"No, that's for Aiden," Ryan says sternly as he hands over the little box. "Throw your own stuff."

Dylan rolls his eyes and rips into the second present. He recognises it instantly; it's an Aiden-sized Team Canada jersey, and when he turns it around, he sees that it's also got Mikey's name and number on it.

"I'll put it on her as soon as she's cleaned up," Dylan promises, tearing up a little. His friends have all been here for him, without question, but a small part of him was scared of how much things would change once Aiden was born. He's different now, for sure, and they all have a lot going on. But changing doesn't have to be a bad thing.

He wipes at his eyes and looks at the last box, then down at what he's already opened. "Do you want me to guess, or should I just open it?"

"You can probably guess," Matt says, "but open it anyway."

It's a matching McLeod jersey in Dylan's size, and he can't help balling his hands up in it and squeezing his eyes shut. "You guys," he says, choked up.

"Oh no! You weren't supposed to cry!" Ryan flops down onto the sofa next to him.

Dylan shoves at him. "Like you really thought I wasn't gonna."

"Team Canada doesn't make tissues," Matt informs him. "I checked."

Dylan elbows Matt in the ribs. It's just like old times.

-0-

The Leafs win two in Florida, and Dylan welcomes Mitch home with enthusiasm. Aiden sleeps through it, because most days she's the best baby, and she's smiley and happy when she gets up and sees that Daddy's home.

"Hi, I missed you too," Mitch says, scooping her up. 

Dylan would feel a little left out if he hadn't just had Mitch all to himself. "We've got seats for tomorrow, and I'm bringing all the blankets," he says. It's not supposed to be super cold, but with how much Aiden hates even moderate temperatures some days, Dylan isn't risking it.

"It's going to be awesome," Mitch replies, bouncing Aiden in his arms.

"Outdoor game," Dylan says, smiling widely. "That's ridiculous. I can't wait."

Mitch sighs. "I wish we could take her to the Juniors game tonight. I want the whole world to see baby Canada."

"Babe," Dylan says, leaning forward and kissing the tip of his nose, "your game is more important. What could be cuter than a baby Leaf?"

Mitch gives him a smile. "Maybe if Papa wanted to wear Daddy's jersey, too?" he asks hopefully.

"How about I wear my Darcy Tucker jersey?" Dylan offers.

That gets him a pout. "Babe," Mitch says.

"What? It's the same number," Dylan teases. "Besides, it's not like I'm not repping team Marner-Strome with little miss living reminder."

Mitch sighs and leans into him. "Yeah, I guess," he says grudgingly.

Dylan shrugs. "It's not like I can wear yours; you're a midget."

"You could if it was a game one," Mitch says, perking up. "If you don't have pads under it, then it should fit you okay."

Dylan kisses him, and then kisses Aiden when she complains about being left out. "Right, because it's a good look for me to be interviewed on an international broadcast wearing a jersey that fits _okay_. Sylvie would have a fit."

"Why didn't I think about this a week ago?" Mitch whines. "I could've had them make one for you."

"Well," Dylan says, dropping his voice low. "A week ago was Christmas Eve. And we were kinda busy."

" _Yeah_ we were," Mitch says smugly. "Still, though. I guess I'll live."

Dylan puts his arm around Mitch's shoulders. "Of course you'll live. We have a whole night ahead of us to be obnoxiously Canadian."

"We should put our jerseys on from last year, and dress her all up," Mitch says. "Then we can at least show the world baby Canada on Instagram."

"For a start," Dylan agrees.

It takes them a little while to get into their jerseys and get Aiden into as much Canada gear as they can, but sitting down to watch Canada-USA together is worth it.

Aiden is barely visible under her toque, but she gives the camera a gummy smile.

"Look, Uncle T-Rads has your number," Dylan points out as the roster is brought up on the screen.

"I had it first," Mitch grumbles.

"And best," Dylan says, patting his knee.

Cuddling up as a family is great; the game, not so much. Aiden falls asleep during the first, which is a more eloquent comment than a lot of media talking heads can come up with.

They find a group of Leafs in the crowd when the US scores, and Auston is cheering while everyone around him looks grumpy at best.

Dylan narrows his eyes. "Is that Momo? I thought he wasn't going."

"Um." Mitch squirms in his seat.

"What did you do," Dylan says, narrowing his eyes at Mitch. It's not a question; Mitch definitely did _something_.

Mitch's ears start turning red, which is a dead giveaway. "I had an extra ticket. And you don't know how bad it's gotten, babe. Even Auston's dad feels sorry for me, being stuck between those two."

"You... talked to Auston's dad," Dylan says slowly.

"It's bad," Mitch repeats. "I thought, y'know, they could go to the game together, and Momo could actually make his move."

"Make his move," Dylan echoes. "At a game when one of them is guaranteed to be cheering for the losing team."

"I'm out of ideas," Mitch says despairingly. "It was this or lock them in a closet, and I'm pretty sure Momo can pick locks."

The US scores again, and Mitch flinches.

Dylan sighs. "I don't think it's gonna work."

"It's not my fault I fail at plotting," Mitch whines. "It was never this complicated with you."

Dylan turns away from the TV to stare at him. "We spent the first six years we knew each other at each other's throats," Dylan says flatly. "It was definitely some version of complicated." Aiden stirs in her sleep. "Oh yeah, and we have a baby."

"Okay, but neither of us had our parents stage an intervention," Mitch points out. "Auston's dad was really worried about how to tell him he already knows."

"So, what, you told him you'd take care of it and set this up?" Dylan asks, waving at the TV.

"No! That would be weird," Mitch replies, giving Dylan some major side-eye.

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "It was already weird."

"I wouldn't tell Auston's dad I'm pimping him out." Mitch raises his eyebrows right back, like Dylan's the crazy one.

"Okay," Dylan says. "Then what _did_ you tell him?"

Mitch shrugs. "That I was really sorry I couldn't drive Auston to the game, but the guys would take care of him."

"Well, he's definitely not gonna think you were trying to set Auston up," Dylan observes, looking at the TV. Momo looks like he's gritting his teeth as Auston smiles at something on the ice. "Considering that didn't work at all."

Mitch huffs and pats Aiden's back. "It's hard to plot when I'm tired all the time."

"Maybe let them get there on their own?" Dylan suggests. "It worked out for us."

"Mostly I just want to stop paying fines. They have to be more gross than us, right?" Mitch smiles hopefully.

Aiden makes a noise and starts fussing, and they both lean over to check on her. Dylan sits back after making sure she's okay. "Maybe not," he admits.

"That doesn't count," Mitch argues, leaning down to nuzzle Aiden's head. "Babies aren't gross." He pauses for a minute. "Well, they're not PDA gross."

"I guess they might beat us out if only because they'll be in the locker room together," Dylan muses. "They'll get caught more often."

Mitch beams. "That's what I thought! See? It's a good idea, I just have to finesse the execution." Dylan opens his mouth to reply, but Mitch's phone starts buzzing. He reaches for it and starts laughing immediately. "Oh, man, Momo is not a happy Momo."

Dylan snorts. "Did you break the Momo?"

"I might have," Mitch says. "I'm about ready to text him _just put your mouth on his mouth and see where it goes from there_."

Dylan tries to hold it in, he really does; if he cracks up he might wake Aiden.

Mitch taps at his phone, and it buzzes right away. He presses his hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter and shows Dylan his phone. He'd texted exactly what he'd said, and Momo's reply is _MY MOUTH IS TOO BUSY SWEARING AT HIS TEAM_.

Okay, that's it. Dylan's just going to have to deal with a cranky baby. He leans on Mitch's shoulder and giggles helplessly. "Tell him having a dirty mouth is a plus."

-0-

Centennial Classic day starts bright and early with a hungry baby. Of course, so do most days, but this time Dylan gets to turn her into a baby Leaf when he finishes the feeding routine. Diaper changes are going to test his ninja skills, but at least she'll be cute. Mitch is out the door before Dylan's gotten her all the way ready; since it's a mid-afternoon game, he'll be at the rink pretty much all day.

"Ready for your close-up?" Dylan asks Aiden, kissing her on the cheek. He'd talked it over with Sylvie and they'd decided that he won't do any official media, but if he gets recognised he'll do the husband thing.

Aiden coos, so Dylan carries her into his bedroom and puts her in the middle of the bed. It takes him a minute to find the broom, but once he does, he gets down on the floor and uses it to shove the box he'd hidden under the bed out.

Dylan beams down at her. "Daddy's going to love this."

The Leafs' Centennial Classic jerseys are some of the nicest ones Dylan's ever seen, and he traces the logo briefly before taking it out of the box and turning it over. The nameplate is crowded, but it's going to be worth it for Mitch's reaction. _Marner-Strome 16_ looks pretty good, that's all Dylan's saying.

Dylan lays it out on the bed next to Aiden and takes a photo. He'll upload it later, so Mitch doesn't ruin the surprise by Instagram stalking. He does send it to Connor, though, because Aiden looks super adorable, and Connor will think the jersey thing is great.

Connor calls him back, and they chat for awhile about how fast Aiden's growing up, how unfair it is. It's ridiculous how much bigger she seems to be every day.

"I'm kinda jealous she gets to go to the game, but all the pictures of her as a Leafs puffball will totally make up for it," Connor teases. "She's going to hate it when she's our age."

"According to my dad, that's the best thing about parenting," Dylan says, adjusting Aiden's toque. "Taking a million photos that your kids will hate you for some day."

Aiden reaches for the screen, and Connor makes a silly face at her. "One day they'll invent teleporters," he promises.

"Ahhhh," Aiden says, batting at the screen.

Connor laughs. "You need to save some energy to cheer for Daddy."

"I'm pretty sure she's gonna sleep through most of it," Dylan says, laughing. "I'm bringing a bunch of blankets, and she'll have her headphones. Hopefully she's cool with it."

"Tell Mitch to kick ass. I'll be watching." Connor tries to make a stern face, but he can't keep it up with Aiden looking at him.

"I'll send the message along," Dylan promises as he hangs up. Aiden kicks her feet, happy with her people. "Okay, let's get you roly-poly."

Dylan gets her into her coat, then contemplates the blanket pile. There's no use putting her in any of them now; he'll just have to take her back out to get her into her car seat. He can put her mittens on her, though, so he does that, hoping that she doesn't decide to gnaw them off. He double- and triple-checks her equipment bag, and they head for the rink.

Mitch's mom finds him as he's hauling Aiden and all of her stuff towards their seats. He's glad he had the foresight to shove the blankets in a bag; there's no way he'd have enough hands for everything otherwise.

"Look at you!" Bonnie exclaims, scooping Aiden out of his arms. "I can hardly see your little face."

"That's the plan," Dylan says, rearranging what he's carrying It's a lot easier when none of his cargo is wriggling. "Keep her all bundled up so she doesn't get mad when it gets cold." Sometimes he wonders if she might‘ve been happier in Arizona. Desert baby. She'll probably do just fine being closer to Mitch, though. They'll be able to see each other way more often with Dylan in Brooklyn.

Bonnie cuddles Aiden close. "We're still on for tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Dylan says as they walk to their seats. He'd made reservations at a hotel for him and Mitch. Bonnie agreed to watch Aiden, so even though Dylan's stomach is twisting a little bit at the thought of leaving her for the night, he's gonna treat his husband, no matter how the game goes.

Chris hands him a hot chocolate, and Dylan settles back in his seat. They chat for a little while, and Chris mentions that the Matthews clan is going to be in the seats right next to them.

"That's great." Dylan slumps down, hiding his face behind his drink.

Chris snorts. "They're nice, I promise. Do you have a problem with Matthews or something?"

"No. He voluntarily deals with Mitch in the mornings," Dylan points out. "He's a saint."

"Does he not think Aiden's the best?" Chris tries to joke, but there's a really serious undertone when he asks.

Dylan gets out his phone and scrolls to a photo of Auston holding her, and beaming his real media-isn't-watching smile.

"That's super adorable," Chris says, smiling at Dylan's phone. "Are you gonna tell me, or..."

"Mitch is trying to matchmake, and I know too many details," Dylan says, glancing around. "I don't know how I can look his dad in the eyes."

Chris shakes his head, laughing. "I don't want to know. When Mitch gets an idea it's impossible to talk him out of it, and I want to enjoy my ignorance as long as possible."

"Good plan," Dylan says. "Question: am I ever gonna get my kid back, or is your mom keeping her forever?"

Bonnie grins at him. "As soon as she needs a diaper change, she's all yours."

"I'm probably the only one who can figure out how to get her in and out of all her layers without missing half the game," Dylan admits, shrugging. “So that's fair.”

The puck drops eventually, after the obligatory delay for weather conditions, and... nothing happens. The first period is a total wash for both sides. Aiden sleeps through it, which means she probably has the best time out of all of them. It gets worse from there, and cameras find him halfway through the second. Dylan gives a media smile-and-wave. It's the kind of game that just kind of drags on, and Dylan can tell that Mitch is getting frustrated.

The Leafs are down 1-0 at the end of the second; Dylan crosses his fingers that it won't stay that way, and he takes Aiden for a bathroom break. She grumbles at him when he peels back her layers, so he changes her diaper as quickly as he can and then bundles her back up. "Sorry, sweetie," he says, kissing the tiny bit of forehead he can see through all the blankets. "Gotta keep you dry."

Sportsnet snags him on his way back to his seat, and Dylan gives vague answers about how they're all excited to be here. The reporter doesn't ask him to unbundle Aiden, so at least there's that. They wrap up, and Dylan starts walking away.

"Hold on!" the reporter calls out. "Can I get a shot of your jersey?"

Dylan laughs. "Yeah, sure, no problem." Mitch won't see it on TV, not in the middle of a game.

Dylan has to squeeze past the Matthews family to get back to the Marners, and Aiden's still complaining about the indignity of her diaper change. "I know, you think being filthy is better than being cold," he says as he rocks her.

There's a gasp from beside him, and Dylan looks over to find Auston's younger sister staring, wide-eyed. "Wait, that's the baby, not a pile of blankets!"

Dylan picks up one of Aiden's hands and waves.

"Awwww," Breyana coos, smiling widely. "It's too cold out here to unwrap her, right? I wanna say hi, but not if she's gonna get chilly."

Dylan grimaces. "Yeah, she'd scream her head off."

"Yeah, no, keep her wrapped up," Breyana says. "I'll just make Auston send, like, a million more pictures. She's so cute."

Aiden babbles her agreement, and Dylan heads off to grit his teeth through the third period.

Dylan doesn't know exactly what Babcock said to the Leafs in the locker room, but it's like a whole different team pours back out onto the ice. Komarov gets them on the board less than two minutes in, and the crowd goes nuts. Then Mitch gets the go-ahead goal, and Dylan yells so loud his throat hurts. He holds Aiden up Lion King style. Brownie scores a little over a minute later, and then Auston scores a few minutes after that. It feels like the crowd is never going to calm down. Auston's whole family is yelling and jumping up and down. Dylan would probably be doing the same thing but, y'know, baby.

It seems like the game is all but over, but apparently Blashill puts the fear of god into the Wings, because they come back to tie the game up with just over a second left on the clock. Dylan ducks behind Aiden's hat, turns to Chris, and mouths _fuck_.

Chris narrows his eyes. "They can do it," he mutters.

Dylan nods and holds tight to Aiden.

Three-on-three overtime is amazing to watch, but sometimes it also makes Dylan nauseous. Auston shoulders his way to the puck, and Dylan holds his breath. He flies down the ice and passes it, and Dylan watches as Brownie sends it to Gardiner, who tosses it up to Auston. Auston smacks at it, and Dylan can see in his posture that it went in before the goal horn goes off.

The stadium erupts.

"Oh my god," Chris screams, jumping to his feet. "Oh my god, did you see that shot? Dylan!"

"I saw it!" Dylan yells back. "Fucking beauty!" Aiden flails around, probably reacting to the way Dylan's bouncing. He looks down at her and smiles. "Daddy did it, baby girl!"

Aiden screeches in his face; on any other day it'd be ear-splitting but right now it just blends in with the crowd.

"That's right," he says, rocking her. "It's totally that exciting."

Chris bumps shoulders with him and wraps Bonnie in what looks like a crushing hug. Then he leans over to shout in Dylan's ear. "Let's go see him," he says, grinning.

-0-

By the time they make it through the crowds and down to the locker room, the celebration is in full swing. Auston and Momo are sitting on a bench, grinning like idiots even though they're surrounded by a giant pile of dirty socks. Dylan isn't sure he wants to ask.

"Dyls!" Mitch calls, popping up in front of him. His eyes narrow instantly. "Wait a minute, that's not a Darcy Tucker jersey."

Dylan laughs. "No, it's a Centennial Classic jersey. Good spotting."

"Did you," Mitch starts. "Are you wearing my jersey?"

"Not exactly." Dylan does a slow twirl. "Right number, but I think they messed up the nameplate." He hears a choked-off noise as he spins, and when he finally faces Mitch again, Mitch's face is beet red.

An errant sock hits Mitch in the back of the head. "Double fines for the rest of the night," Hyman calls out.

"You're gonna be sorry when somebody finally decides to like your sorry ass," Momo pipes up.

He's hit by a deluge of jock straps. Dylan exchanges a glance with Mitch, but he just shakes his head. "I'll tell you later."

"Boys," Bonnie says, appearing by Dylan's side. "Would you mind terribly if I kidnapped my grandbaby for a few hours?" The smirk on her face says she definitely caught Mitch's expression when he saw Marner-Strome on Dylan's jersey.

"Hold on, I need celly cuddles first." Mitch takes a minute to get a secure hold on the giant puffball that is Aiden.

"Eeeeee," Aiden shrieks when she sees Mitch's face.

"I know!" Mitch replies, equally as excited.

"She was yelling just as loud as everyone else when you guys won," Dylan says proudly.

Mitch blows a raspberry on Aiden's neck, and laughs when she screeches even louder.

"Attagirl," Kadri says, leaning in to make a funny face at her. "That's how we cheer for the Leafs!"

Aiden swipes at him with her baby claws, because he's getting in the way of Daddy time.

Mitch snorts. "Two minutes for slashing."

"Not the face," Kadri gasps dramatically, waving his hands around. He peeks at Aiden when she giggles.

She reaches out again, but Kadri's ready this time. He captures her hand. "Om nom nom!"

She shrieks and laughs, wriggling in Mitch's arms.

Kadri ruffles her hair—or, well, he would if she wasn't still wearing her Leafs bobble hat—and retreats to the safety of his stall.

"Okay," Bonnie says. "I'm going to take Aiden back to your house. You boys have a good night." And with that, she plucks Aiden out of Mitch's arms and walks towards where Paul and Chris are talking to Auston's parents.

Mitch frowns. "Wait, she's taking Aiden back to the house? I thought she was giving us, uh, some alone time."

"She is. At our place." Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "I got us a room."

Mitch stares at him for a moment. "It's almost worth the fines, but I'll wait to kiss you until later," he says, leaning in and lowering his voice. "Because holy shit, babe, you in that jersey, you setting this up? I'm not gonna want to stop."

Dylan leans in close. "I'm planning to fuck you in it." It's only fair that Dylan do most of the work; Mitch has to be tired after the game.

"Oh my god," Mitch whines. "I have to do an interview."

"Good thing you have practice pretending your mind isn't in the gutter," Dylan teases.

"This is going to be the longest post-game of my life," Mitch says, completely serious. "Hang here and I'll find you after?"

"I'll be here," Dylan promises.

It feels like half the night goes by while Mitch is showering and doing his post-game interview, but when he finally walks back to the locker room to get Dylan, Dylan's mouth goes dry. Mitch looks good in a suit. Momo wolf whistles at them, and Mitch flips him the bird before grabbing Dylan's hand and dragging him out of there.

"Have fun going home to Auston's house with his whole family now that you got your shit together," he calls back as they leave the locker room.

Dylan prides himself on waiting until they're in the car to kiss Mitch's smug mouth. "You're a little evil, and I love you a lot," he says when he pulls back.

Mitch snorts. "You're one to talk about evil."

"No, I had a plan to surprise my husband, and so far it's going perfectly," Dylan corrects.

Mitch places his hand on Dylan's thigh. "Get me out of here before we're arrested."

"Sexy," Dylan deadpans, but he does as he's told.

Mitch sits back in his seat, spreading his legs. Dylan gets them to the hotel in record time.

The check-in process goes pretty smoothly; they definitely get recognised, which probably helps, but the clerk is nice about it. Dylan lets Mitch get into the elevator first, and then makes sure he stands way across the other side. When Mitch pouts, Dylan points up at the security camera.

"Ugh, why'd you have to book us a _nice_ hotel?" Mitch complains. "I want to get my hands on you."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "Nice hotels don't let photographers into the lobby."

"It's not like you're my dirty little secret," Mitch says. "Also, they're all following Auston tonight. Two goals, and the OT winner? We could fuck in this elevator and all we'd get is security."

Dylan can feel his resolve slipping, but fortunately the elevator hits their floor before Mitch's knees can.

"C'mon," Dylan says, grabbing Mitch's hand and pulling him down the hall.

They make it through the door, somehow. "Shit," Mitch breathes, pushing Dylan back against the door. He puts his hands on Dylan's hips, bunching his fingers in the jersey fabric. "God, I almost jumped you in the locker room."

Dylan laughs. "We're more original than that."

Mitch's face flickers with amusement. "Momo isn't."

"Tell me all about it," Dylan demands. "But, uh, later? You need to be naked now." He grabs for Mitch's tie.

"Yeah, later," Mitch says, sliding his hands up beneath the jersey. "Uh, you were... you meant it, right? About keeping this on?"

Dylan nods. "I mean, I can take off the layers under it and put it back on?"

"Hell yes," Mitch says, stepping back. His hands go up to his tie. "I'll strip me, you strip you."

"No fair," Dylan complains. He hardly ever gets to strip Mitch out of his suit.

Mitch rolls his eyes. "We will never get to bed," he points out.

Dylan says nothing; he just undoes his belt and lets his pants drop. They don't get undressed in record time or anything; for the first time in a long time, they don't have to fit this in between baby feedings. It still isn't long before Dylan's standing in just the jersey, watching as Mitch hangs his pants and jacket carefully on the back of one of the chairs.

"Hey," Dylan says softly, as Mitch smooths down the lapels of his jacket. "Turn around."

Mitch does, and his eyes immediately darken. "Dylan," he breathes.

"All yours," Dylan replies, just to make Mitch squirm.

It definitely works. Mitch crosses the room in a few quick strides, and he slides his hands up the back of the jersey, resting them on Dylan's waist. "You are the hottest person in the world."

"Not that you're biased or anything," Dylan teases.

Mitch kisses him hard instead of denying it. It's not like Dylan minds or anything. He kisses back, sliding his arms around Mitch and pulling him close. Mitch's grip is bruisingly tight, but Dylan doesn't want to rush through this. Not when they can take their time for once.

"God, I love you," Mitch says when he pulls back to breathe. "Bed?"

"Bed," Dylan agrees.

They manage to make it without totally letting go of each other or tripping, which is kind of amazing. It's all going according to plan, but Dylan still loses his breath with Mitch spread out in front of him. He's gorgeous, lean muscle and sharp hips and soft smile on his face when Dylan looks up. "Hi."

Dylan straddles Mitch's hips. "Hi."

Mitch immediately gets his hands on Dylan's hips. "This is like something out of a fantasy," he admits, laughing a little.

"It's better, though," Dylan points out, leaning down to kiss him.

They kiss and rock against each other for a while, both of them pretty content to not rush anything. Mitch breaks first, and Dylan tries not to be smug. "Something you want, babe?" he teases as Mitch mouths his way down Dylan's neck.

"To go back in time so you could prep yourself while I was doing that goddamn interview," Mitch mumbles into Dylan's skin.

Dylan laughs, but he can't help agreeing. "I can take care of that now," he says, leaning up. "Gotta go get the stuff from my pants, though."

Mitch beams at him. "I'll be right here. I promise I won't fall asleep."

Dylan snickers a little as he climbs off the bed. "You know you're a parent when..."

"At least we don't have to keep it down so she won't wake up," Mitch points out gleefully.

Dylan snorts. "That's another good thing about nice hotels: better sound insulation."

"Good, because I'm definitely planning on shouting your name," Mitch says, grinning when Dylan trips.

Dylan grabs the lube and a condom and manages to make it back to bed without serious incident. Mitch gives him a slow clap.

"I could just jerk off wearing the jersey," Dylan threatens. It's completely without heat, but Mitch grabs for him anyway.

"You promised," Mitch whines.

Dylan sighs like he's put upon. "I did," he says, uncapping the lube.

He kneels over Mitch while he fingers himself, and judging by the way his breathing goes ragged, Mitch appreciates the front row seat. He works his way up to two fingers, then three, before Mitch gets impatient with just watching. "Can I?" he asks, rubbing his fingertip against Dylan's hole.

"Go for it."

Dylan holds his fingers still while Mitch pushes his way in, thrusting shallowly. He drops his head against Mitch's shoulder, breathing harshly. It's a lot, but it's so, so good.

"Fuck, I've missed this," Mitch gasps.

"Me too," Dylan manages. "Fuck, I'm ready."

Mitch rips open the condom packet with his free hand, and then he stalls. "Um. Can you help?"

They manage to get the condom on, which feels like a minor miracle, and then Dylan holds Mitch's cock steady as he sinks down onto it.

"Oh holy shit," Mitch says shakily. "Dyls."

"Yeah," Dylan breathes out. It's been way too long. They've managed quickies, and they've had some great Skype sex while Mitch was away, and all of that's great. It's nothing compared to the feel of Mitch stretched out beneath him, the way Mitch's dick feels inside him. Dylan rolls his hips and bears down.

"Fuck," Mitch says, dragging it out. He keeps looking from Dylan's face down to the logo on his jersey and back. "God, Dylan."

"You were so good, babe." Dylan leans down and kisses him.

"Wanted to score for you," Mitch says, thrusting up.

Dylan grins. "Well, you definitely scored. Got the go-ahead."

"And you were wearing my jersey," Mitch says, dropping his eyes to the logo again. "With our name on it."

"Best name in hockey," Dylan replies.

"Nothing else comes close," Mitch agrees.

Dylan rises up on his knees and grinds back down.

"Shit," Mitch chokes out. "You're so fucking good, Dyls."

"Better with you." Dylan sets a slow pace; they have all night.

-0-

They doze for a while after; hockey is tiring, and so is the great sex they had. Dylan's pretty sure that Mitch is going to be out for the night, but he stirs after half an hour or so, blinking his eyes open.

"Ugh. What time is it?" Mitch asks, yawning widely.

"A little before midnight," Dylan replies.

Mitch sighs, and presses his nose into Dylan's neck. "Aiden's probably waking up around now."

"Yeah," Dylan says, squeezing him. "She's probably yelling at your mom for not making a bottle fast enough."

"And making that adorable sleepy face, like she can't remember why being awake is a thing," Mitch adds.

Dylan bites his lip, hesitating. "Uh, you can tell me I'm being ridiculous if you want," he says. "But do you want to just... go home?"

"Yes!" Mitch flings an arm over him and hugs him tight. "I thought this would be awesome, and don't get me wrong, the sex part was great, but..."

"But we should get up and shower and go home now," Dylan finishes. "Your mom can still have the guest room. I just want to see Aiden."

Mitch kisses him quickly and then bounces out of bed. "Come on, if we time it right we can have sleepy cuddles."

They shower quickly. Dylan's glad he thought ahead enough to bring them both changes of clothes; getting Mitch back into his postgame suit would take way too long. They play rock-paper-scissors for who gets to drive, and Mitch pouts as he curls up in the passenger seat. Dylan's not actually worried that Mitch would fall asleep while driving home, but better safe than sorry anyway.

He turns the stereo up loud, partly to keep himself awake and partly because he knows they're both weak to the distraction of music. Mitch starts singing along, wriggling in his seat like he'd be dancing if he had a little more energy. Dylan grins at him and joins in.

The lights in the kitchen and the nursery are still on when Dylan pulls into the driveway, and Mitch fistpumps. "We made it!" He throws open the car door and tries to get out, forgetting all about his seat belt.

Dylan laughs. "I'm sure your mom heard the garage open," he says. "Take a minute, babe."

Mitch shakes his head as he unbuckles his belt. "You just want all the cuddles to yourself."

"I share!" Dylan protests, getting out of the car.

Mitch just ignores him and heads for the door. Aiden's whining is audible as soon he opens it, and Dylan's heart melts. They were away for _hours_ and they missed bedtime.

"Hey, baby girl," Mitch calls as he walks towards the kitchen. "Are you giving Grandma a hard time?"

Aiden's whining picks up volume, and Mitch starts speed-walking towards the sound of her voice.

"We came home, don't worry," Dylan says as they reach the kitchen. Bonnie's holding Aiden, burp cloth over her shoulder, and she's rolling her eyes and shaking her head at them.

Mitch scoops Aiden up and she smacks him in the chest, not in a forgiving mood yet.

"She hasn't burped yet," Bonnie warns him, transferring the cloth to Mitch's shoulder.

"She was waiting for Dad's magic touch," Mitch says confidently. "Sorry it took so long, baby."

Bonnie laughs. "I told her there was about a fifty-fifty chance her dads would be back before morning."

Dylan grimaces. "Sorry, I know we're pathetic."

"You're new parents," she corrects. "With a really hilarious nursery."

"Excuse you, it's a great nursery!" Mitch makes the best offended face as he tries to coax Aiden into belching like the trucker she secretly is. Dylan has to bite his lip because this is who they are now.

"When I said that Marner babies liked mint chocolate chip, I didn't mean paint the nursery that colour," Bonnie says, grinning.

Dylan freezes. "Is that why I'm always hungry after the midnight feed?"

"Probably," Bonnie says. She's laughing at them now. "Mint green walls. I couldn't believe it when I saw it."

Mitch just sort of ducks down behind Aiden.

"We didn't mean to?" Dylan tries.

That makes Bonnie laugh even harder. "You picked it out before she was born," she says. "Aiden chose her own colour."

The little lady in question lets out a huge burp, then settles against Mitch with a happy sigh.

"Ready for your ice cream room?" Mitch asks, kissing the top of her head. "You like it, right? Little miss mint chip."

Aiden grabs a fistful of his shirt, looking for all the world like she'll never let go. Ever. "Good luck getting her down," Dylan mutters.

"I'm up for the challenge," Mitch says, walking closer. "Want a little snuggle before I put her to sleep?"

Dylan doesn't have to be asked twice. "Hi, sweetie," he murmurs, doing his best to untangle her fingers from Mitch's shirt. "Come say night-night to Papa, okay?"

"I'm going to bed," Bonnie says quietly. "You boys have fun."

"Thanks, Mom," Mitch says, giving her a hug. "Sorry we ruined Grandma night."

Bonnie pats him on the cheek. "It's fine. That little girl knows what she wants."

"Ahh," Aiden mumbles sleepily, resting her head on Dylan's chest.

"Sorry I wasn't here," Dylan says, kissing her on the cheek. "But hey, look: I brought Daddy home with me."

"Uh uh uh," Aiden agrees. She yawns, and Mitch makes grabby hands.

Dylan kisses her forehead before handing her back over. He follows Mitch upstairs, caught in the wake of his two favourite people. He watches from the doorway as Mitch lays Aiden in her crib, murmuring to her and rubbing her back as she protests no longer being held. "Goodnight, Aiden. We love you."

Aiden squeaks out a tiny baby sigh and wriggles a little.

"Shh," Mitch says. "It's quiet time, not dance time."

Dylan has to bite his lip; she's Mitch's daughter, which means pretty much all the time is dance time. He backs out of the room so he won't set off a giggle party. That definitely won't help Aiden get to sleep.

Dylan brushes his teeth and starts getting ready for bed. Mitch has impeccable timing, because he walks in just as Dylan drops his pants. He whistles, so naturally Dylan shimmies his hips. "Like what you see?"

"Did I not make that clear enough earlier?" Mitch asks, walking over and sliding his arms around Dylan's waist.

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "Your mom's down the hall. It's just like that first summer."

Mitch drops his head against Dylan's chest and snickers. "So we're gonna jerk each other off, but only last like a minute and a half?"

"Ah, memories." Mostly Dylan remembers being uncomfortable—hot and sweaty and turned on in the middle of road hockey, desperately hoping nobody noticed. Thankfully, the only people who noticed were Connor, who gave Dylan a thumbs-up, and Ryan, who made a face but knocked on Dylan's door a few days later and tossed a box of condoms at his face. They didn't quite get around to using them that summer, but the box disappeared over the season.

"Hey," Mitch says, kissing Dylan's collarbone. "I love you."

"I love you too," Dylan replies. "Take off your pants."

" _Just_ like that first summer," Mitch says, laughing as he steps back to comply.


	39. Chapter 39

Dylan hears from his agent with a deadline for when the Isles want him in New York right before Mitch and Chris leave on the Leafs' dads-and-brothers trip. Mitch's face crumples a little when Dylan tells him, but they agree to talk about it after he gets back. It's a tense couple of days, but Dylan's glad they didn't try to squeeze in a conversation before Mitch left. There's too much to cover, too many feelings to sort through; for one thing, Dylan's fighting with creeping doubts about whether this is the right thing for Aiden. It makes for a rough few days while the Leafs play the Caps and then the Devils, but Mitch has five days off coming up. They can talk then.

Hallsy sends him a pic of Mitch in a friendly headlock, and Dylan manages to set aside his emo for a couple of hours. It's a much better game than the one against the Caps had been, that's for sure. The Leafs are up 4-0 by the end of the first, and Aiden falls asleep happy. She misses the Devils trying their hardest to claw it back with two goals midway through the third. The Leafs hang on, though, so Dylan cheers quietly before putting Aiden to bed.

"Daddy's home tomorrow," Dylan whispers. He's not sure which one of them is more excited.

Mitch crawls into bed sometime well after midnight, slinging his arm around Dylan and falling asleep pretty much instantly. Dylan leans back into him and dozes back off pretty quickly himself. 

Mitch is still dead to the world when the Aiden siren goes off, so Dylan eases out of bed and tries not to wake him. He's got the bottle-burp-diaper routine down by this point, so it's not too long before he's slipping back into bed and cuddling up behind Mitch.

Mitch turns and hides his face in the pillow. "Five more minutes."

"You have morning skate," Dylan reminds him. "Gotta beat the Habs tonight."

"Later," Mitch mumbles.

Dylan nuzzles the back of his neck. "As much as I'd love to nap with you right now, you need to pick up Auston."

"He has a car now," Mitch whines. He's still stubbornly holding onto the covers around his shoulders, even though he's clearly awake.

Dylan hums thoughtfully. "I guess you could stay here and handle the first diaper explosion of the day."

"Still rather do that than go to skate," Mitch says, but he sighs and lets the covers fall as he sits up. "Morning."

"Yes it is, unfortunately." Dylan grins, and reaches to pat Mitch on the cheek. "How was your trip?"

Mitch smiles down at him. "Chris had fun, I think. It was cool to have him along."

Dylan snorts. "Of course he had fun. He's your number one fan."

"He is," Mitch agrees. "At least until Aiden's old enough to not fall asleep during games."

"She'll be wide awake by the time you get back," Dylan points out.

Predictably, Mitch breaks into a goofy smile.

"The sooner you go, the sooner you can come home," Dylan says. "I'll put her in something super cute so you have something extra to look forward to."

"Best game day routine ever," Mitch declares, kissing Dylan quickly and then rolling out of bed.

Aiden's snoring, so Dylan goes back to sleep for a little while when Mitch leaves. He gets up before the Aiden monster awakens again, so he's got time to decide what to put her in before he gets a critic. He can't remember what she wore the last time Mitch was home, so he consults their private Instagram. Repeat outfits are frowned upon, apparently. It's not like she doesn't have enough clothes to wear something different every day, anyway. Dylan scrolls through the album, and picks through Aiden's closet. There are a couple of outfits she was too small for not that long ago, but she's growing like a weed.

He pulls a dress out and holds it up, then puts it back in the closet. The next one he pulls out, though, is definitely today's outfit. When he turns around Aiden's staring at him between the bars of her crib. She gives him a gummy smile when their eyes meet.

"Good morning to you too," Dylan says fondly.

"Eeeeee," she says, flopping her arms at her sides.

"I know!" Dylan scoops her up and she snuggles in close, still sleepy and warm. She smacks her lips together as he grabs a blanket to keep her warm and heads down to the kitchen.

"It's been two hours, how are you hungry again?" Dylan asks. He's pretty sure the answer is yet another growth spurt; at the rate Aiden's going, she'll be taller than Mitch by the time she's ten.

Aiden wakes up a lot more when she hears the familiar bottle prep noises, and she starts her grunting routine as soon as Dylan screws the top on the bottle. She attacks the bottle like a hockey player attacks a post-game pizza—with an enthusiasm that's kind of disgusting to watch. Dylan's glad he hasn't changed her into her outfit yet, that's all he's saying. She needs a bath after that, and by the time she's dry and warm, Mitch is due home in a little under an hour. Time to get her dressed.

Aiden flaps her arms in her fluffy bathrobe, laughing at the way it makes the ears flop around. It's a tie for cutest Aiden outfit, but that's far from a two-way tie. When Dylan takes it off, Aiden growls at him and bares her gums. "I'm going to be so screwed when those teeth actually come through," he observes. He holds the dress he'd picked up for inspection. "What do you think?"

"Ooooh," Aiden coos, reaching for it.

He shakes his head. "Figures red would be your favourite colour, Baby Canada."

She giggles at him, and he can't help but smile as he starts getting her dressed. Dylan has to admit, it looks pretty awesome with her dark hair. "Do you have a red hair bow?" he muses, finger combing her hair. He snorts at himself. "Of course you do. Let's find it before Daddy gets home, okay?"

Aiden blows a spit bubble while he's setting the bow in place, which reminds Dylan of an important accessory: a bib, so she won't drool all over her dress before Mitch sees it.

"There we go," Dylan says, satisfied, when she's finally ready. He takes a few pictures to put on Instagram after Mitch sees her.

Aiden smiles at him and rips the bow off so she can shove it in her mouth.

Dylan sighs and gently pulls it out of her mouth. "Here," he says, shoving a binky in her mouth before she can protest too much. "How about we go get a teething ring?"

Aiden grumbles at him around her binky, but it doesn't sound like it's going to turn into a full-blown thunderstorm. Dylan's just happy he doesn't have to wrestle with her; Mitch would absolutely choose that moment to walk in.

She spits the binky on the floor when Dylan pulls a teething ring out of the refrigerator.

"Thanks for that," Dylan says dryly, but Aiden just ignores him and makes grabby hands. He sticks the teething ring in her mouth, and when she makes a happy noise, leans down to pick the binky up and toss it into the sink.

She's chewing away happily when they both hear the front door open and close. Aiden starts wriggling her little butt off because she knows what that means; everybody else knocks first. "Brace yourself," Dylan calls, grinning. "She's extra cute right now."

"I'm ready!" Mitch calls back, and Aiden tries her hardest to backflip out of Dylan's arms.

"Eeeee!" she shrieks, bending pretty much entirely in half backwards, which is of course when Mitch walks in.

He strides over and braces her with one hand. "Hi, Aiden! Look at you, Ms. Ladybug."

Dylan pecks him on the cheek. "You take her before there's a mutiny."

Mitch doesn't protest, not that Dylan thought he would. He takes Aiden and holds her out in front of him for a moment, smiling when she shrieks again. "Adorable," he pronounces as he brings her close. She is; the dress is red with little black polka dots on it, and it's somehow even cuter on Aiden than it had been on the hanger.

Aiden grabs his hoodie in both fists, like close isn't anywhere near close _enough_.

"I missed you too," Mitch croons, swaying a little bit. "My little ladybug."

Dylan bites his lip, and wonders for the thousandth time if he's doing the right thing—if taking Aiden to New York is a huge mistake.

Mitch glances up at him, and his smile slides off his face. "Hey, what's up, babe?"

Dylan steps close and slides an arm around Mitch's waist. "Tomorrow," he mumbles, hiding his face in Mitch's hair. "We'll talk about it after you crush the Habs."

"Okay," Mitch says softly, shifting Aiden around so he can hug Dylan. They stand there like that, the three of them in the kitchen, for quite a while. Dylan lets himself believe that it'll be like this forever.

-0-

The Leafs don't crush the Habs, and Aiden reverts to sleeping like a normal baby—waking up every few hours and crying. Maybe she's just hungry, or maybe she's picked up on the tension. She's had three bottles by the time the sun comes up, and Dylan makes the command decision that they're not getting out of their pajamas today.

"I'm so glad I have five days off," Mitch says, rolling his neck as Dylan finishes burping Aiden. "It'll give us time to hang out as a family before..." He gets an awful look on his face, so Dylan just hands Aiden over. Mitch makes a grabby hand at Dylan, too, and he rests his head against Dylan's collarbone when Dylan moves in. "This kinda sucks," he mumbles. "We only have a little over a week."

Dylan swallows hard. "I'm really sorry. I could ask them to give us until the end of the season..."

"It's not gonna suck any less at the start of next season," Mitch says. "And if you're ready, you're ready. God knows the Isles could use you."

Dylan winces. Ryan's on pace for his best season since his rookie year, but the team as a whole is in the basement. Not just bottom of their division, but bottom of the eastern conference. Almost at the bottom of the entire league. He's pretty sure it's too late for him to actually help them this season, but Mitch isn't wrong. If Dylan can get some ice time at the end of this season, it could help him gel with the team before the start of next season.

Dylan holds on tight to Mitch. "I know it's kinda selfish for me to go. Aiden's settled here, and both our families are here to help. I just... It's not good for her to see me give up on everything, either."

"You have to go," Mitch says. "You _do_. That's not selfish. It's just gonna be rough."

Dylan nods, miserable. They both knew this was going to happen when they decided to keep Aiden, but the reality of taking her away from Mitch hurts like hell.

"What do we need to do between now and next Wednesday?" Mitch asks softly. He hasn't made a move to back away.

"A lot," Dylan confesses. "The Isles got started on finding her a nanny, and Boychuk said he has a good pediatrician I can talk to. But like... We have to figure out what she's going to need."

"What does Ryan already have?" Mitch asks, finally shifting back. "I know you guys went on a shopping spree."

Dylan takes a deep breath. "If you want, we could FaceTime him. So you can see the other nursery."

"Yeah," Mitch says immediately. "I want to see it."

Dylan texts Ryan first to make sure they won't be interrupting anything they can never un-see. Aiden's too young to discover the need for brain bleach. Ryan calls back in a couple of minutes, so Dylan figures he wasn't doing anything. Or anyone.

"Hey," he says, smiling as the call connects. "How's my best girl?"

Aiden coos and swats at the screen.

"Attagirl," Ryan says, beaming. "Why're you calling me, huh, cutie? Just want to say hi to your favourite uncle?"

"I wanna see my room, Uncle Ryan," Mitch says in a squeaky voice. "Pleeeeease?"

Ryan snorts. "Only if you promise to stop doing that," he says. The camera freezes for a moment as Ryan changes the view, and then they're watching as Ryan walks down the hallway. "Uh, so, I... got some other things?"

Dylan can't help laughing. "Of course you did."

"The rest of the bedroom set is here," Ryan says, pausing in front of the door to the nursery. "And I got so many crib sheet sets. How do you pick?"

"Um." Mitch casts a sideways glance at Dylan. He'd better ‘fess up or he's totally getting thrown under the bus. "I ranked them by cuteness, and Dylan told me how many I was allowed to buy."

"And then he bought five extra just in case," Dylan adds.

"Solid," Ryan says, nodding. "Well, John told me I couldn't fill up the whole linen closet with baby sheets, so I didn't get one of each, but there are... several."

"You need room for towels," JT yells from off-screen.

"I can get a cabinet for the bathroom," Ryan yells back.

"And what, hang it from the ceiling?" JT appears in the background and ruffles Ryan's hair. "We live in New York."

"I'd make it work," Ryan protests, but he's grinning. "Aiden wanted to tour her new room."

JT grins back at him, and Dylan can't help feeling like he's stepping on a moment. "Why don't I take your phone?" JT offers. "Wouldn't want you to have to go on IR for tripping on a diaper pail."

"Oh, shut your face," Ryan says, but the screen wobbles as he hands it over.

"Okay, this is the hallway," Ryan narrates as he crosses a two-foot space, "and this is the door. Check it out." Aiden's name is spelled out in alphabet blocks. Ryan looks very proud of himself.

"Cute," Mitch says, beaming.

Ryan bounces on his toes, and tries to push open the door. It catches halfway, and JT starts laughing at him.

"How much _other stuff_ did you get"? Dylan asks suspiciously.

"It's not what it looks like!" Ryan insists. "Some of this stuff is going into storage for when she's bigger."

"The giant stack of diapers probably fell off the rocking horse," JT adds, selling Ryan out without a second thought.

Dylan points the phone at Aiden's face so JT can't see him mouth _rocking horse_ at Mitch.

Ryan shoulders the door the rest of the way open. "It has a bucket seat," he argues. "She'll totally be able to use it by the end of the season."

"Okay, that is awesome," Mitch admits when the camera lands on the rocking horse.

Dylan can sense his impending doom. "Don't look now, JT," he says darkly. "There's two of them."

JT sighs heavily. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

Ryan ignores them in favour of heading over to the crib and making jazz hands at the mobile he picked out.

"Does it play music?" Mitch asks. "Or, I guess, if it does, can you turn it off? She likes the movement, but she sings along if there's music, so it doesn't help her fall asleep."

Ryan beams. "It's wireless, so you can control it with your phone."

Mitch turns to Dylan. "Does ours do that? That's awesome!"

Dylan glares at Ryan, and makes a mental note to ask him for the product number. As if they need _more_ baby apps.

"I got a few different curtain sets, too," Ryan says, pointing, and JT obediently swings the phone.

Dylan squints. "Is that Isles blue or Maple Leafs blue?"

"Both," JT says, before Ryan can deny it. "You have no idea how many swatches of fabric we went through."

Mitch hums. "The blue on the left is a little more patriotic."

"Babe," Dylan says fondly, "since when is our flag blue?"

"Since shhh," Mitch says, flapping his hand at Dylan. "It's more Maple Leafy."

Ryan bites his lip, and Dylan suddenly remembers the prank with the mint green paint samples. "They're the same, aren't they," he says flatly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ryan lies.

Mitch starts laughing. "Good one," he says.

"I told you they were smarter than you," JT teases from behind the camera. "How does it feel to be more of a Dadzilla than her actual dads?"

"Let's not be hasty," Dylan drawls.

Ryan ignores them in favour of coming over to shove JT in the shoulder. Mitch covers Aiden's eyes with his hand. "You're too young for this."

They whisper at each other for a minute, but it doesn't take long before JT clears his throat and turns the camera around. He's got a little bit of a blush going on, which is interesting and also something Dylan's not going to invest too much thought into, just in case it's _that_ kind of blush.

"Hi Aiden," JT says, whisper-soft.

Aiden goes still, like his voice is crack for babies.

"Wow, look at you. You're so grown up." JT smiles, and Aiden smiles right back at him.

"Oh oh," she says softly, batting at the phone again.

JT nods seriously. He's the captain for a reason. "We'll see you soon. And I promise Uncle Ryan will have all this stuff off the floor."

"No tripping hazards," Ryan promises. "Although that's more for me and Papa, since you're not so much with the walking yet."

Mitch lets out a wounded noise. "Don't say the W word. Or the C word. I'm not ready."

"How about just saying she's the cutest?" JT offers.

Dylan smiles, and tickles Aiden's toes. "No arguments here."

-0-

Mitch comes home from practice on Friday laughing, which is a massive improvement over the sad looks he's had all week as they packed up Dylan and Aiden's stuff in preparation for the big move. The only break he took from trying not to mope all week had been for Matty's birthday celebration; nobody can be sad in the face of that much cake.

"Yay, Daddy's home," Dylan says, dancing Aiden across the room.

"Yay," Mitch echoes, taking her and turning in a gentle circle. "Uncle Auston and Uncle Momo got fined more today than I have been to date, little girl, so Daddy's in a great mood."

Dylan shakes his head. "How did that happen?"

"Vacation photos," Mitch says, grinning. "Lots of them. One of them as the lock screen on Momo's phone."

"Tell me he didn't make a couple photo his lock screen," Dylan says, eyes wide. There's out to the team and then there's so far out you may as well pay for a billboard. Dylan would know; he and Mitch chose the latter.

"Way worse," Mitch says. "It's just a photo of their feet standing in the water. You can't tell who it is at all. It's a _secret_ couple photo."

Dylan's jaw drops. "You know what this means: Auston is a secret cheeseball."

"It's the worst-kept secret on the team," Mitch replies. "Did you know he can be bribed into dancing? It's awful."

Dylan is having the best day. "Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car?"

"He finally does, and he's gonna start using to drive himself to practice," Mitch confirms. "I'm pretty sure by 'himself' he means 'and Momo.'"

"Aww, no more sing alongs in the morning."

"No more terrible Auston Oldies in the morning, you mean," Mitch corrects.

Dylan cracks up. "Yeah, Auston's the one who loves Bon Jovi."

"You don't even know," Mitch says cheerily.

"But you're going to tell me all about it," Dylan commands. "Because you love me, and having your kid trumps the team code of silence."

"He knows every word to every Springsteen song ever written," Mitch confides without hesitating. "Even the terrible ones."

Dylan clasps his hands together. "I promise to use this information wisely."

"I hope you mean that you're going to find a creative way to chirp the hell out of him," Mitch says. "Otherwise, why did I even tell you?"

Dylan shakes his head sadly. "Babe, do you even know me?"

"I knew I made the right choice," Mitch says, bouncing Aiden as he walks over to kiss Dylan's cheek. "Would husband again."

"I just have to bide my time, so they don't stop giving you the good gossip," Dylan replies.

Mitch nods seriously. "That would be the worst."

"Speaking of the worst," Dylan says, reaching out to grab Aiden's hand. "Davo has once again turned another year older before either of us got there. Wanna call and whine?"

Mitch grimaces. "How is that even allowed?"

"Calendars," Dylan says, making a face.

Aiden makes a fish face back at him.

"Wanna call Uncle Connor?" Dylan asks her. "We can show him how cute you are. Not that he forgot, probably, but reminders don't hurt."

Mitch beams. "We can cheer up Uncle Nugget, now that his boy toy's all grown up."

"Should we go all out?" Dylan asks, tugging at the hem of Aiden's shirt. "We can make her baby oil for a little while."

"Nah, let's save that for playoffs. She can be a baby Otter, so he remembers where he came from." Mitch kisses the top of Aiden's head, his eyes far away.

"Sounds good to me," Dylan says, reaching out to pull Mitch and Aiden into a hug. They made some pretty incredible memories in Juniors. They also made a baby, and then a family. It's a lot to think about.

Dylan forgets all about keeping his hair out of Aiden's reach. She latches on instantly. "Ow, okay, Daddy and I are going to stop being sappy," Dylan promises.

"Hey, speak for yourself," Mitch says, leaning up to give Dylan a soft kiss. He pulls back after a moment. "Let's go call."

Dylan extracts himself without ending up with a bald patch, which is a miracle. Part of him can't wait until she's old enough to understand that hair-pulling is no fun, but the rest of him would trade it to keep her this small. Aiden laughs in his face and clenches her chubby fists in victory. She'd make one hell of an enforcer.

They head into the living room after getting Aiden changed, and Dylan texts Connor while Mitch gets settled on the sofa with her. Dylan's phone rings almost instantly, which is completely unsurprising. He answers and starts singing happy birthday.

"Please don't," Connor says, laughing. "Show me the baby. That's the real present."

"Happy birthday, Uncle Connorrrrr," Dylan croons, turning the screen so Connor and Aiden can see each other.

"Aoooo," Aiden sings along.

"Happy birthday to you," Mitch finishes, clapping Aiden's hands together.

"Aww, thanks Aiden!" Connor beams from ear to ear.

She shrieks, beaming, as she reaches for the phone.

"I miss you too," Connor replies. "When did you get so big?"

"It keeps happening," Dylan complains as he sits next to Mitch. He switches the camera so they can all see each other. "It's like every bottle she has makes her that much bigger."

Connor shakes his head sadly. "Food is terrible."

Aiden makes a high-pitched noise and tries to shove her entire fist into her mouth. Connor rests his chin on his hand, enchanted.

"How about a chew toy?" Mitch asks, tugging Aiden's spitty hand out of her mouth and jamming a teething ring in instead.

Dylan snorts. "She's not a puppy."

"Snapchat begs to differ," Mitch replies.

Aiden grabs the teething ring with both hands and goes to town, chomping down on it and drooling a little. Mitch ruffles Aiden's hair and tugs on the teething ring like he's going to take it. Aiden growls loudly, turning her head away.

Connor laughs loudly. "Are you sure she's not at least part puppy?"

Dylan jabs Mitch in the ribs and he yelps. "Hmm, you might be right, Davo."

"You're the worst," Mitch says. He leans in and lays his head on Dylan's shoulder anyway, adjusting Aiden so she's between them.

"So Aiden," Connor says, "when your parents get too crazy you can run away to my house."

Dylan pats her chubby thigh. "What Uncle Connor isn't telling you is that this _is_ his house."

"That means she won't have to crawl very far next summer," Connor points out. "It's a win-win."

"Crawling," Mitch whines. "No. No crawling."

"Not until we're thirty," Dylan agrees.

"Not until we retire," Mitch says. "Both of us."

Aiden kicks out with her feet and manages to get both of them in the knee.

"Hey, that wasn't a request to cut our careers short," Dylan complains.

Connor, the traitor, just laughs.

-0-

The last few days before Dylan and Aiden head to New York are crazy busy. Mitch's family volunteers to babysit, which is a godsend. Dylan's able to pack up some of Aiden's toys without her wanting to play with everything she sees immediately. They hit a stumbling block when they go to pack her clothes. She's not gonna fit into a lot of this stuff by the time they're back for the summer, but Dylan doesn't know how to say that without Mitch getting even sadder.

"These shirts are so small," Mitch comments. "How do they make such a giant mountain of pastel?"

"It helps when you have a million of them," Dylan points out.

Mitch snorts. "Gotta buy 'em all."

"Don't tell Ryan," Dylan says, groaning. "He'll take that as permission."

"I can't blame him for wanting to spoil her. She's pretty great," Mitch replies, picking up a stack of tiny leggings and adding them to the pile.

"She's the best," Dylan agrees. "But she has more clothes than she can possibly wear."

Mitch shrugs. "So she can be the most fashionable baby in New York, never seen in the same outfit twice." He's trying as hard as he can, but he can't keep the wobble out of his voice.

Dylan puts down his armful of sparkly dresses and pulls Mitch in. He doesn't say anything, just holds on for a little while. "You know I'll have to call you every day," he says. "You're her number one stylist."

It makes Mitch sniffle a little. "You're really bad at matching her headband to her outfit," he agrees.

"I promise never to get any better at it."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Mitch says, squeezing him tightly before stepping back. "C'mon, we need to get this stuff all packed up before the movers get here."

"We need to keep back enough clothes for a month," Dylan reminds him. "I'll put it in my luggage for the flight." He smiles a little and pokes Mitch in the ribs. "Can't have the most fashionable baby in New York going naked if the truck gets lost."

Mitch snorts. "Oh my god, she'd yell down an entire apartment block. She would scream bloody murder until you replaced her entire wardrobe."

"That's why we have the suitcase backup plan," Dylan says.

Mitch's hands linger over one of Aiden's impossibly soft blankets. "Is it weird if I want to keep one?"

"You can keep one," Dylan says softly. "She won't miss the green one."

Mitch brings it up to his face and takes a deep breath.

"You know what kind of shampoo we use," Dylan adds. "So if it stops smelling right, maybe put some of that in the wash?"

Mitch nods. "And you can take one of my shirts, so she remembers me."

"She's not gonna forget you," Dylan promises. "But I'll take two shirts, just in case."

Mitch drops the blanket and turns, grabbing the front of Dylan's shirt with both hands and yanking him into a kiss.

Dylan puts his hands on Mitch's waist and kisses him back. He hates feeling like he's trying to save the memory for later, but he knows he'll be thinking about this when he's in New York.

Mitch pulls back maybe an inch, but he doesn't let go. "You're going to crush it. New York won't know what hit 'em." He doesn't spell it out, but Dylan can hear the desperation anyway. This is going to be worth it because it has to be.

"And you're gonna keep putting up crazy numbers here," Dylan says. "Aiden's gonna be watching to make sure you don't slack off."

Apparently it's the right thing to say, because Mitch goes back to kissing him bruisingly hard. They lose a little packing time to making out pressed against the wall in Aiden's room, but Dylan's not going to complain about it. Hours later, when Chris drops Aiden off, he doesn't say anything about the hickey forming high on Dylan's throat. They all know he's thinking it, but he just raises an eyebrow. "You guys sure you don't want an overnight hall pass?"

"They leave in the morning," Mitch says, hugging Aiden tightly. "You don't get to keep her, not tonight."

"Damn, you foiled my evil scheme to make her miss the flight," Chris says in a stage-whisper.

Mitch moves like he's going to hand her back over, but Aiden whines and clutches the neck of his shirt, and Mitch's whole face sort of crumples. It's painful to look at, but Dylan can't bring himself to turn away.

"Hey," Chris says quietly. When Dylan turns, he's holding his arms open for a hug. "Kill it in New York, Dylan."

Dylan can't breathe. This year has been so much; he's done so much for everyone else, but none of it feels as huge as what Mitch is giving up.

"C'mere," Chris says, pulling Dylan in. He hugs Dylan tightly, not saying anything when Dylan lets out a shuddering breath and tries his best not to cry on his shoulder.

It takes him a minute to figure out Chris isn't the one aggressively patting his back—it's Aiden, showing her love through violence as per usual. Dylan turns and pulls Mitch and Aiden in, making it a big group hug. This time they can't blame the grossness on baby drool.

"Okay," Chris says after a while. He leans in to kiss Aiden on the head, then pulls back. "I'm heading home. Safe flight, you guys."

"Thanks," Dylan manages to choke out, pressing tighter against Mitch's side. Mitch has a hand fisted in Dylan's shirt. He doesn't seem to be interested in letting go, either.

"I love you," Dylan says, just because he needs to say it.

"I love you too," Mitch says. "So much."

Aiden coos, grabbing a handful of Dylan's shirt and managing to pinch his chest. So she loves him too.

"And you," Mitch says, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Aiden's head. "I love you too, sweetie."

"Careful, she'll scratch you so she can take some of you with her," Dylan warns.

Mitch's smile is more than a little watery. "And she'll leave me a little reminder."

Aiden turns towards him and reaches for his face. Mitch's smile is her favourite shiny thing. "Oooooo," she says, grabbing his cheek. She squeezes it, like an annoying grandmother, and Dylan bites his lip so he won't laugh.

"Ba ba ba," Mitch tells her, stretching his mouth around each syllable.

It makes his cheek move, and Aiden frowns as she tries to maintain her grip.

"Bananananana," he says, grinning.

She shoults, bringing both hands up to clap Mitch on both cheeks.

"Ahh, precious moments," Dylan says as Mitch blows a raspberry.

Aiden giggles, turning into a baby noodle and flopping back so she can see Dylan.

Dylan nuzzles the top of her head. "I've got you, baby girl. Daddy too, even when he's gross."

"She's about to drool on your shirt and I'm the gross one," Mitch says. "Good to know."

Dylan laughs. "I can't help it if I make all the girls drool."

Mitch grins at him. "If that's the kind of thing you find sexy, I'm sure I can deal with it."

"I'll deal with your _face_." Dylan leans forward and licks the tip of Mitch's nose, and Aiden screeches with laughter.

"You're the gross one," Mitch says, laughing. "Also, you're encouraging her."

Dylan cuddles Aiden close. "I have to maintain my position as second favourite."

"You're going to have serious competition soon," Mitch agrees. "Uncle Ryan is going to buy her anything she looks at for more than three seconds in the store."

"It's not Uncle Ryan I'm worried about," Dylan says. "It's Uncle JT, who will buy her things before she even sees them, and then somehow convince me it's a good idea for her to have it."

Mitch takes a breath to reply, but Aiden claps him on the cheeks again and the air he was holding puffs back out.

Dylan can't help it; he cracks up. As far as goodbyes go, it's happy enough.

-0-

It's a good thing Mitch got permission to skip morning skate, because Dylan's pretty sure he didn't sleep at all. He's in Aiden's room when Dylan's alarm goes off at seven, and he looks worse for the wear.

"Did you sit in the rocking chair all night?"

Mitch blinks up at him. "I spent half of it curled around you."

Dylan feels his knees go weak so he does the only logical thing: he sits in Mitch's lap. "I'll be back," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around Mitch's shoulders as Mitch leans into him. "We both will. We'll see you as often as we can."

"I'll come see you," Mitch replies. "Every chance I get."

"We're gonna make this work," Dylan promises. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "If we can't—if it's too hard, then we'll talk. You're more important than hockey."

"So are you. Both of you." Mitch presses his face into Dylan's neck, and they sit there for a while just breathing together until Aiden wakes up. Dylan lets Mitch gets her out of the crib while he goes downstairs to get her bottle ready. He doesn't need to hear what Mitch will say to her; he already knows.

Mitch brings her downstairs a few minutes later. She looks sleepy and warm, and Mitch looks like he never wants to let her go. Dylan hands over the bottle without a word, and Mitch gives him a tiny smile. He presses a kiss to Mitch's temple and heads back upstairs. He can change and get the luggage downstairs while Mitch is feeding Aiden.

Dylan takes his time debating whether or not to leave a note on Mitch's pillow. In the end he settles on getting Aiden's blanket instead. A note might set Mitch off crying, and he needs to take a nap before he kicks Jack's ass.

One of the spare rooms is full of boxes; the movers will be here tomorrow to pick them up and drive them to New York. Dylan doesn't glance in the room as he passes it on his way back downstairs; he knows how much of their lives he's uprooting, and he doesn't need another visual reminder.

He finds Mitch in the living room, rocking Aiden and humming to her. He moves as quietly as he can, carrying suitcases and bags and the stroller to the front door. He doesn't want to intrude on Daddy-Aiden time.

Dylan's phone dings as he's bringing the last of it down, and he looks over at Mitch. "The car will be here in fifteen minutes," he says softly. "Want to get her dressed?"

Mitch doesn't say anything; he just nods and stands up, carrying Aiden up the stairs and disappearing into her room.

Dylan sits down on the sofa to wait. Time keeps moving, no matter how much they want to stop and take a breath. Everything's as ready as it can be. Dylan wants to give Mitch a little more time with Aiden, but he suddenly, desperately wants a few more minutes with his husband before he has to leave. He pushes himself up and takes the stairs two at a time.

Aiden is babbling at Mitch when Dylan gets to the nursery.

"You're really good with stories," Mitch replies. "You'll have to tell me all about New York."

"We'll call you all the time so she can tell you," Dylan says from the doorway.

Mitch zips up Aiden's jacket, scoops her up, and turns around. "We're almost ready, Papa."

Dylan crosses the room in a few steps and hugs them.

"It's not that far," Mitch says, trying to keep his voice even.

Dylan nods. It isn't, really; it's a hell of a lot closer than if he'd stayed with Arizona.

"We've done this before," Mitch continues. "It'll be okay." His voice breaks, and Dylan hugs him tighter.

"I'm gonna miss you like crazy," Dylan whispers. He's afraid that if he tries to speak normally, he'll start crying. He's not that far off anyway.

Mitch pulls back and kisses him all over his face. "I'll call you so much you won't have time to miss me."

"I'll find time," Dylan says. His phone buzzes again and he can't help grimacing.

"They're here," Mitch guesses, and Dylan nods.

"I'll load the car, you hang onto her," Dylan suggests.

Mitch nods, and they make their way downstairs.

Traveling with a baby is a lot like being a pack horse. Dylan's really glad the Isles sent a car; hopefully the driver will help him unload at the airport. He's glad to see that there's an Aiden-sized carseat in the back. He'd asked the Isles to make sure there was, but he'd been worried it would slip through the cracks. It's not the same brand as their carseat, though, so Mitch spends a long time fussing with the straps.

Aiden doesn't make it easy for him; she wriggles around as he buckles her in, whining when he finally steps back.

"I know," Mitch says helplessly. "I'm sorry."

He shuts the door gently but firmly, and Dylan can see him take a shuddering breath as he looks through the window at her. Aiden starts crying, and Dylan isn't surprised in the least that she picked up on the tension.

"I'm sorry, baby," Mitch repeats. He's crying, too, and Dylan feels the tears prickling in his own eyes. He doesn't regret having her, not even a little, but he feels shitty about putting her in a no-win situation. Dylan walks around to Aiden's side of the car and pulls Mitch into his arms. They're both crying, and Dylan's going to look like a wreck on the plane, but he doesn't give a shit.

"Uh. Is the baby okay?" the driver asks eventually.

"She's not thrilled," Dylan says, reluctantly letting go of Mitch. "Babies are good at picking up on feelings. I'll calm her down." He wipes his face, kisses Mitch one last time, and gets in the back with Aiden. She's pretty much inconsolable; Dylan's sure his own misery isn't helping anything, but she's pretty much in meltdown mode."I know, I know," Dylan tells her.

There's a rap on the window, and when he turns he sees Mitch holding a Centennial Classic toque. Dylan rolls the window down, and Mitch reaches in to pull it down over Dylan's ears. "In case it's snowing when you get there," he says.

Dylan has no idea what to say. He grabs Mitch's hand as he goes to pull it back and presses a kiss to his knuckles. It feels silly, a little, but Mitch gives him a shaky smile.

"It's, uh. It's game worn," Mitch adds. "I thought maybe Aiden..." He trails off, and shrugs. "That way she can have both of us on the flight."

"I'll give it to her at the airport," Dylan promises.

Aiden calms down from air raid siren to angry cat as Dylan and Mitch talk. In hindsight it was probably a mistake to strap her in somewhere unfamiliar and weird-smelling without one of them in reach of her claws. Dylan hopes she'll forgive them for being pretty off peak dad game today.

"This is probably the best it's going to get, until I can pick her up," Dylan tells the driver.

The driver sighs. "Okay."

Mitch scowls like he wants to challenge the driver to a duel.

"We gotta get on the road," Dylan says, taking a deep breath to force the ache in his chest down. "We love you."

"I'd do anything for you," Mitch replies, still scowling. "Just say the word."

"I know, killer."

Mitch looks down at him, face softening. "I love you. Call me when you land."

"Go take a nap, babe," Dylan says. "I'll call you."

Mitch steps back, and Dylan puts the window up. Then he touches his fingertips to the Leafs toque, hoping it'll make Mitch smile.

Sure enough, it does, and Dylan keeps his eyes on Mitch as the driver slowly pulls away from the house.

-0-

Aiden is cranky on the flight. Dylan doesn't blame her at all; she definitely knows something is going on. He's hoping that being around Uncle Ryan will distract her for a while, but he's not looking forward the day Aiden figures out her dad isn't just on a road trip.

"It's okay," he murmurs as she whines, shoving her face against his neck. "We'll land soon, and then you can say hi to Uncle Ryan and see what kind of presents he bought you. There's a rocking horse! Isn't that exciting?"

Aiden isn't impressed, and she yells her way through their descent. Dylan's sure everyone in earshot hates him.

He gets a few glares as people stand up to get their carry-ons, but when he finally gets up to make his way off the plane, the older woman who'd sat behind them the whole way leans forward and pats Dylan on the arm. "It's hard sometimes," she says sympathetically. "But she's a lovely little girl, even if she's not a particularly happy one right now."

Aiden stuffs a handful of Dylan's shirt into her mouth, which at least muffles the screaming a little. Lovely isn't the word he'd use.

"I hope you don't have another flight after this," the woman adds, giving him a smile. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Dylan mutters, rubbing Aiden's back. He manages to unwedge the diaper bag from under the seat without dropping her, but it's a close thing.

It takes them a few minutes to actually get off the plane, and Dylan heads straight for the bathroom. Aiden definitely has a soggy diaper, and it's not helping the situation at all. She's committed to being miserable, and she kicks and yells her way through the indignity of acquiring a clean diaper. She quiets a little when he puts all her clothes back on and picks her up, but she doesn't really settle.

"I know, traveling sucks," Dylan says, bouncing her a little.

She whines and grabs his shirt with both hands, and Dylan has an idea. He rummages in her diaper bag and pulls out the toque Mitch had given him before they left Toronto and puts it on his shoulder, where she tends to lay her head. Aiden coos and bops her head against it.

"Smells like home, right?" Dylan murmurs, swaying her back and forth a little. This is the calmest she's been since before they put her in the car this morning. "Smells like Daddy."

Aiden sticks out her tongue, but apparently the toque doesn't taste great because she does a full-body flinch.

Dylan snickers a little. "Teething ring?" he offers, reaching straight to the bottom of the diaper bag. They sink like rocks.

"Ababa!" Aiden demands, smacking her lips.

"As the lady commands," Dylan says, sticking the teething ring into her mouth. She lets go of his shirt with one hand so she can hold onto it. He fights his way through customs as she chews happily. Hopefully they can get to baggage claim before she decides she's starving.

There's a welcome sight when he finds the right carousel: Ryan, standing next to Dylan's suitcase. Dylan breaks into a smile. "Hey look, it's my new favourite person."

Ryan laughs. "I'm the best godmother," he agrees. "How was it?"

"Horrible," Dylan confesses. "I never thought I could hate planes so much."

"Sorry," Ryan says, wincing. He holds his hands out. "Can I get a snuggle?"

Dylan knows he means from Aiden, but he leans in and hugs Ryan, dropping his forehead to Ryan's shoulder. Ryan hugs him as close as he can with Aiden between them, and Dylan lets himself relax for the first time all day.

"Ba," Aiden shouts after a minute, wriggling fiercely.

"Can't be left out, huh?" Ryan teases, scooping her out of Dylan's arms. "Just like your papa."

"She has middle child syndrome," Dylan says solemnly. "We have no idea where she picked it up."

Ryan bites his lip. "I'm trying not to make a joke about Mitch being the first child because I love you."

Dylan smacks him in the arm he's not using to hold Aiden. "Where are you parked? I really want to be done travelling as soon as possible."

"Um," Ryan says, cuddling Aiden close. "About that."

Dylan sighs. "You brought JT, didn't you. And made him stay in the car." He pauses. "Again." Ryan turns bright red, so Dylan knows he's right. "You are the worst boyfriend."

"Keep your voice down," Ryan hisses, and Dylan blinks a little. Being out and open about things with Mitch has maybe made his guard slip. "He's bringing the car around. We can meet him outside."

"Sorry," Dylan offers.

Ryan sighs. "I'll take my apology in baby cuddles," he says, holding Aiden close.

Dylan grabs his suitcase and adjusts the diaper bag slung over his shoulder. "Lead the way."

They head outside, and JT's face lights up with a painfully bright smile when he sees them. Ryan's got an answering grin on his face, and Dylan knows he has to be more careful, but they should maybe stop smiling like that at each other if they don't want people asking questions. Aiden squeals at the top of her lungs, and somehow JT smiles wider.

Dylan grins; he's glad she's feeling better. He opens the back door and checks the car seat, just to be safe, and Ryan laughs at him. "You're such a dad."

"Your point?" Dylan asks, tugging on one of the straps before he holds his hands out for Aiden.

Ryan shrugs. "It's a little weird. Like you're the grown up and I'm the baby brother."

"You are kind of short," Dylan says, strapping Aiden into her seat. "Maybe you are the baby." Aiden holds up her teething ring for Dylan to inspect, which gives him an evil idea. He grabs it and looks at it carefully. "Thanks, Aiden," he coos at her. "Is this for Uncle Ryan?"

"Aww, what did she get me?" Ryan bounces on his toes, unsuspecting.

Dylan doesn't bother wiping all the drool off before he holds it out. "A baby teething ring! Baby sharing, awwww."

Ryan recoils, arms pinwheeling as he tries to ward Dylan off. Aiden shrieks, baby giggles bubbling up as she watches them. Dylan lunges forward, and Ryan ducks out of the way.

"Beh," Aiden cheers.

"Guys, security's going to drive by soon, and we can't still be parked here when they do," JT says, clearly amused.

Dylan caves first, because he's the grown up. Aiden beams at him and reaches out for her teething ring as he climbs in on the other side of the car. He gives it back to her and waits patiently for Ryan to buckle himself in. Then Dylan licks his finger and jams it in Ryan's ear.

"You're so gross," Ryan yells, trying to wiggle away. Fortunately for Dylan, his seatbelt catches, so he doesn't have anywhere to go. JT turns up the the radio to drown out Ryan's protests. It's good to know who's his favourite: Aiden, of course.

"So," JT says when things have calmed down. "There's, uh. There's a reason I came with Ryan to get you guys from the airport."

That doesn't sound good, but Dylan doesn't have the luxury of freaking out anymore. He takes a couple of deep breaths and rests a hand on Aiden's car seat. "Okay."

There's a few seconds of silence before JT sighs. "Coach got fired while you were on the flight."

"That sucks," Dylan says on autopilot. He doesn't know what to think, or how it's going to affect him.

"Well, no, _we_ kinda suck right now," Ryan mutters.

"Ry," JT says. He reaches over to put his hand on Ryan's knee, and Dylan has to bite his lip. "We're gonna do better. And Dylan, I'm here to let you know that this doesn't change anything for you. I talked to Snow this morning, and he asked me to reach out to you and let you know."

Dylan just nods. He doesn't trust himself to say anything more.

"It's fine," Ryan says firmly, twisting around in his seat so he can look at Dylan. "It's—we kind of all knew this was coming, and it sucks, and this season might be over already, honestly. But you're staying, Dyls. This has nothing to do with you."

That's what Dylan is worried about—that this has nothing to do with him, and there's nothing he can do. He nods again.

"The assistant GM is stepping in as coach for the rest of the year," JT says. "We're going to see how things go, see who we can grab over the summer." He laughs a little. "It might actually be a good way for you to get into the lineup. If we're not going to be making a playoff push, then we can ease you into things." He sounds like he's trying to not to be bitter.

Dylan tries not to flinch. He's not used to seeing this side of JT. Hell, after so many years with the Otters Dylan still thinks of himself as the leader, the one people praise and blame.

"We're gonna get home, and we're gonna unpack, and then we're ordering Italian," Ryan says. "There's a place that does good stuff pretty nearby, and it's not incredibly off the meal plan as long as you know what to order."

"Sounds good," Dylan forces himself to reply. Then he focuses on the curl of Aiden's tiny fingers. They're going to be fine, he tells himself. They're gonna be just fine.


	40. Chapter 40

Dylan and Ryan spend most of the afternoon unpacking while JT watches Aiden. Dylan checks in on them every half-hour or so, just to make sure their mutual admiration society isn't going through a schism. The only hiccup they experience is when Dylan discovers that JT doesn't really know how to change a diaper, and he very quickly fixes that problem. JT doesn't even need a shower afterwards, so it's a win all around.

They finish unpacking with enough time to eat before the Leafs game starts, which Aiden appreciates. She makes short work of her bottle, as per usual, and Ryan remains entirely too fascinated by the disgusting noises she makes.

"See?" Ryan says, elbowing JT in the ribs. "I told you she's the worst." He's beaming with pride, so Dylan doesn't throw the empty bottle at his face.

"It's pretty gross," JT agrees. "Can I burp her?"

Dylan laughs. "I guess if you can handle a locker room you can handle baby puke."

"I'll show you how," Ryan says. "I'll get a burp cloth, hang on."

JT's eyes follow Ryan across the room and back. Dylan makes a mental note: the two of them are as subtle as a puck to the face. Chances are some of the team already knows, but if Ryan needs someone to look out for him Dylan isn't going to wait for him to ask. Dylan takes some video of Ryan putting the burp cloth across JT's shoulder, then showing him how to hold her and pat gently at her back until she belches, loud and long. He immediately sends it to Mitch, then to Connor and Matty.

JT and Ryan don't give Aiden back for puck drop, so Dylan settles for taking their photo and applying SnapChat filters. Aiden looks pretty cute with puppy ears. Dylan, of course, is not biased at all. He picks the least couple-y one and posts it to Aiden's private Instagram, #goleafsgo.

Ryan's phone pings with the notification. He glances at it, then makes a face at Dylan. "Really?"

Dylan raises an eyebrow, and casts a glance down. Ryan and JT's feet are pressed close together, like they're trying to hold hands with their toes. Dylan magnanimously cropped that out of the photo. "Really?" he echoes.

"No, I mean the _tag_ ," Ryan says. "You're an Islander. C'mon."

Dylan shrugs. "Aiden's not."

"She's a baby with split loyalties," JT says very seriously, patting her back. She's happily gumming on his collar.

Kyle Okposo opens the scoring, and JT cheers loudly before remembering they're not on the same team anymore. The game is chippy; it's not quite goal for goal, but the score stays close all game. Ryan refuses to cheer for either side, declaring himself Switzerland, so when Aiden starts getting fussy Dylan press-gangs him into walking her up and down the hall. She dozes off against his chest by the start of the third, and Ryan sits so still on the sofa that Dylan has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. JT does his best impression of a statue, and he keeps stealing nervous glances at Dylan.

"She won't bite you if you wake her up," Dylan assures him. "She doesn't have any teeth yet, just really determined gums."

"But I don't want her to cry," JT says, eyeing Aiden.

Dylan can't help staring at him because wow, if JT's scared of crying he's dating the wrong guy. Stromes own the Water Works square in Monopoly. "She's three months old," he finally says. "Crying is one of the only ways she has to get her feelings across. She does it kind of a lot."

Ryan nods. "Stromes have a lot of feelings."

"So do Marners," Dylan says. "Also opinions."

The goal horn sounds, and Aiden doesn't even twitch.

"See? She doesn't even wake up when her dad gets a pretty nice assist," Dylan says, watching the replay.

Ryan relaxes a fraction of an inch, and Dylan does not laugh at him. Much. Out loud, anyway.

The Leafs win the game, which is great; the bad thing is that Momo leaves the game after he falls weird, and nobody gives an update on him in the postgame. MSG-B's interview with Mitch is brief, but it does the job of waking Sleeping Beauty. Aiden peers over JT's shoulder, looking for her dad, and Dylan suddenly needs baby cuddles. Right now. He stands up and walks over, holding his hands out, and JT barely even pouts when Dylan lifts Aiden into his arms. "Hey, baby," he murmurs. "Wanna see if we can call Daddy?"

Aiden kicks out with her feet when she hears the D word. "Okay, well, let's give him a little time to shower," Dylan says, tickling one of her feet. "We'll call him when he's driving home. How about we go put on some fuzzy jammies, huh? So you're all comfy when we call Daddy?"

Ryan perks up. "Can I pick?"

"No Isles things yet," Dylan says. "Just... too soon, you know? I don't want to upset Mitch even more."

"Okay," Ryan says softly, and he crosses the room to give Dylan a hug. Dylan still wishes he was back in Toronto with Mitch, but he's glad that if he has to be elsewhere, he's here with Ryan.

"Ooooh," Aiden says emphatically, and Ryan steps back.

"Oh no, did I squish you?" He holds out his hands, and Dylan lets him take her. She immediately starts sucking on his shirt, which means that after she gets changed Dylan should probably give her a little more to eat. He'll just text Mitch to FaceTime him when he gets home.

Ryan wanders away to get the pajama situation under control, and Dylan kills some time with JT awkwardly not talking about the coaching situation. Luckily, Ryan comes back with Aiden after a few minutes, and Dylan has to blink a few times. He definitely does not recognise what she's wearing.

JT leans over and stage-whispers, "Retail therapy."

"I see that," Dylan says, holding his arms out. Ryan hands her over so Dylan can inspect her outfit. He starts laughing when he realises what he's seeing: Ryan bought her footie pajamas with dinosaurs dancing all over them.

"They're cute!" Ryan protests, his face turning bright red.

"I'm gonna tell her that your name is Uncle Dinosaur," Dylan teases. "They're adorable, but I'm sensing a trend."

"He absolutely is not hiding dinosaur-foot slippers," JT says.

Ryan dives over the back of the sofa and tackles him. "Those were supposed to be a secret until I found out whether or not they fit!"

"Oh no, we need those now," Dylan says, delighted. "JT, come here, hold her while I make a bottle. Ryan, go get the slippers. Mitch is gonna love them."

"Wanna let me up?" JT asks Ryan, his voice media-bland.

Ryan squirms, like he's completely forgotten Dylan's there.

"Never mind," Dylan mutters, turning so Aiden won't see anything she can't unsee.

He walks into the kitchen, and a moment later, there's a crashing noise. JT appears in the kitchen soon after, an innocent look on his face. "Cuddles?" he asks, holding out his hands.

"Only if you promise to keep things G-rated," Dylan teases.

"We will," JT promises immediately. "We'll keep all of that stuff at my place."

Dylan hands Aiden over and steps back. "I'm not asking you guys to leave room for Jesus, I just don't want to sit in the wet spot."

JT goes red, which is kind of hilarious, so Dylan turns around quickly and starts the bottle process. "I'm just gonna..." JT mutters before fleeing.

When the bottle's ready, Dylan stomps his feet as he heads out of the kitchen. Growing up with Ryan and Matt and the McLeods has taught him the value of making noise before you walk in on a couple. They're sitting on the sofa, but Ryan is a respectable distance away this time. 

Aiden's bent in half, trying her best to get her foot in her mouth so she can taste dino claws. JT is actually doing a really good job of not letting her baby noodle her way onto the floor.

"Food time!" Dylan calls out, and Aiden tries to backflip out of JT's hands.

"Hey, whoa," JT says, alarmed. "Don't do that."

"Team Food is her favourite," Ryan tells him, holding his hand out for the bottle.

"Fan for life," Dylan confirms. "I'm gonna text Mitch. I'll be back to steal her when he's ready to FaceTime."

"Yeah, okay, we've got this," Ryan replies, waving him off.

Dylan retreats to his bedroom. It's kind of sparse right now; the movers will be here tomorrow with the rest of the stuff, but he'll be fine for tonight. He sits on the edge of his bed and texts Mitch. _gonna shower. Facetime when i get out. <3_ Then he grabs a change of clothes and goes to wash off the day. Between traveling and unpacking, he's kind of a sweaty mess.

-0-

Dylan texts Mitch when he's out of the shower, and he barely has time to wander out to where Ryan and JT are playing with Aiden before his phone starts ringing. Dylan answers without looking. "Hey stud, nice assist."

"Gross," he hears, and when he looks at his phone, he sees Jack's truly unimpressed face.

"You're not my husband," Dylan replies.

" _Gross_ ," Jack repeats. He tilts the phone down until Dylan can see Mitch resting his head on Jack's thigh. "Someone was sad even though his team won, so I told him I'd come cuddle. And hey, speaking of cuddles, you couldn't have waited one more day?"

Dylan frowns. "Uh. For what?"

"Taking the only reason to come to this frozen hellscape of a city away to Brooklyn with you," Jack says. "Although now I guess there's a reason to go to Brooklyn."

"Sorry, I didn't realise you were volunteering to quit the NHL and be a full time nanny," Dylan teases.

"Don't tempt me," Jack says. "Hopefully I never have to deal with an injury like I did this season again, but if I do, your regular nanny is getting a vacay."

"Okay, we've established you like Aiden more than you like me," Dylan says, grinning. "Can I talk to Mitch now?"

"No," Jack says. "Show me the baby, then you can have your husband."

"I should put you on speaker," Dylan threatens as he heads over to the sofa. "Say hi to Ryan and JT."

"Hello to the enemy," Jack says cheerily. "Where's my favourite baby?"

Ryan covers Aiden's face with his hand. "I have no idea what you're talking about. There's no baby here."

"Aiden girl," Jack says, voice going impossibly sweet. "You remember Uncle Jack, right? We had so much fun when I came to visit."

Aiden bats at Ryan's hand, squealing at the top of her lungs.

"It's a good thing she doesn't have teeth yet," JT says, laughing as Ryan pulls his hand away. "You'd have puncture wounds."

"Shh, quiet," Jack says as Aiden comes into view. "We're having a moment."

Aiden shrieks and reaches for Dylan's phone, fingers grasping at the air.

"Guess who's with me?" Jack says in a disgustingly sweet voice.

"Ooooooh," Aiden says.

Jack laughs. "I know, Daddy's sad face is epic."

"Hi, Aiden," Mitch says, smiling sweetly. The screen wobbles for a moment, and when it refocuses, Mitch's face is much closer. "How was your flight, huh? Papa said you didn't like it much."

Aiden leaves little smears of fingerprints on the screen as she tries to smash Mitch's cheeks.

Dylan's chest aches a little, but he swallows it down. "Hey, Ry, where's your phone?" he asks, handing his to JT.

Ryan digs it out of his pocket and hands it over without question. Dylan dials Jack's number, listening as a phone starts ringing on FaceTime.

"Who," Jack starts, then snickers. The phone stops ringing, and then Dylan hears in double time, "Hey, stud."

"Mitch, could you...?" Dylan asks.

Jack squawks as Mitch pokes him in the ribs. "No hitting on my husband," he says sternly before rolling off and wandering away.

"As if." Jack does a full-body shudder.

"What, not good enough for you?" Dylan jokes, heading back to his bedroom. He and Jack can chat while Mitch has some Aiden time, and then they can switch.

Jack snorts."No-one's good enough for me. I'm saving myself for the hockey gods."

"We both know that's not true," Dylan says. "Is there someone? Is that why you're all... with the face?"

" _No_ ," Jack snaps. "Why does everyone keep asking?"

"Well, there's the face," Dylan says, grinning, but Jack keeps on looking pissed. "Hey, what's up?"

"Sam keeps hooking up with this girl." Jack does the shuddering thing again.

"Uh, okay." Dylan has no idea where he's going with this. "Are they too loud, or...?"

"No," Jack says, really grumpy. "He's actually way more considerate than, uh, than I've been in the past. It's just..." He hesitates, and then his shoulder slump a little. "I think they might be dating? Or might be heading that way."

Dylan scrubs a hand over his face. "And that's a problem."

"No," Jack says, sounding frustrated.

"Because if you like Sam, it's probably better if you stay somewhere else," Dylan adds. "Crushes don't go away if they're in your face all the time." And crushes on straight guys are the worst.

"I'd rather get in between you and Marns," Jack says flatly. "And you know how much I'm not about that."

"I'm having trouble figuring out what you _are_ into," Dylan replies, just as flatly. 

Jack twitches.

"You know the answer to that," Dylan says slowly, watching him. "And you don't want to tell me for some reason." He pauses, but just for a second. "You don't have to, Jack, that's fine. But I'm your friend, so if you want to—"

"I don't want to date and I don't want to get married," Jack says. It's quick, like he's blurting it all out before he can stop himself. "I don't want to now and I'm not interested in it in the future, either."

Oh. That... makes a lot of sense. Dylan's struck by a terrible thought. "Let me guess: Sam's all loved up and he wants to play matchmaker."

"I'm sure his girlfriend's best friend is _really nice_ , just like she keeps saying, which is why I'm just as sure I am _not interested_ ," Jack says, slumping a little. "I don't want to, like, lead her on, and I don't want to fuck things up for Sammy by telling this girl that I'm only in it for the sex."

Dylan grimaces. "Sounds like you're backed into a corner. Sucks, dude."

"Just," Jack says, heaving a sigh. "It does suck, and I don't know how to make it not suck. Telling Sam that I'm not interested just makes him do the 'I think you'd really like her if you met her' thing, and he's so ass over teakettle for this girl that I don't think he'd get it if I told him I don't do the romance thing."

"If it's that bad, it sounds like we're back to maybe you should live somewhere else," Dylan points out.

Jack sounds tired when he answers. "He's my friend, Dylan. He wouldn't get why, and I don't want to hurt his feelings." He shrugs a little. "Maybe next season, but I'm not doing anything in the middle of this one. Even if our record does suck."

"Well, it's January. Maybe you could just say you need to focus on getting back to 100% after your injury?" Dylan grins. "What's a little guilt trip between friends?'

Jack gives him a little bit of a smile, but it drops off his face pretty fast. "Can I dump another thing on you here?"

"Dump away," Dylan replies without thinking.

Jack doesn't make the joke, though. He just closes his eyes. "I want to be a dad," he says quietly. "I want that so badly I don't even know how to explain it. But I want to do it on my own, no other parents involved, and I don't know how to make that happen."

Dylan's breath catches in his throat. "Being a dad is the best."

"I can tell," Jack says softly. "That—I don't fall in love with people, but the way you love Aiden, that I can do. That's what I want."

Dylan can see that from miles away. "You should do it. Don't get me wrong, flying solo is really fucking hard, but I've never met anyone who crushes a challenge the way you do."

"I can't exactly go to a sperm bank," Jack replies. "And I'm not gonna knock someone up and then ask if they might be interested in fucking off and leaving me alone with a kid who's half theirs, either." He shrugs a little. "Maybe I'll do a surrogacy thing some day. I don't know."

"You have plenty of time to figure it out," Dylan reminds him. "And in the meantime there's Aiden."

"There's Aiden," Jack agrees, smiling a little. "D'you think Marns is ready to give me a little bit of her attention?"

"If he's not, I can always give you a nursery tour," Dylan promises.

Jack perks up. "Let's do that first."

He laughs pretty hard at the enormous pile of stuff Dylan somehow has to find a home for. Dylan doesn't trust the calculating look in Jack's eyes though. "She doesn't need more shit," he says sternly. He's not hopeful that it'll actually work, but he has to try.

Jack smirks at him. "You should stop feeding her, then."

Dylan can't help but snort. "Yeah, no."

"It's all part of my evil plan to make her like me the best," Jack confesses.

"Then definitely feed her," Dylan advises. "It's her favourite thing."

"She didn't even turn into a gremlin last time, when I fed her after midnight," Jack brags.

"Pure luck," Dylan says, grinning. "Let's see if Mitch is ready to trade off."

-0-

The next few days are kind of a blur. Dylan meets with the trainers so they can figure out what they need to do to get him back on the ice, then sits down to talk with the interim coach about his place on the team. He's assured once again that he's part of the plan for the future, and then Coach Weight sends him back to the trainers, who give him a schedule of what to do and when to do it. It's a weird kind of proof, but Dylan will take it.

He sleeps when he can, which isn't anywhere near as often as he'd like because Aiden's taking in all the new things, all at once. Some of them she loves; to Ryan's delight, the rocking horse is one of them. Some of them, like her new crib, she isn't quite as fond of. Mitch sends a couple of gross, sweaty t-shirts, and that helps a little. Dylan chooses to ignore Ryan's chirps about shipping biohazards across the border.

He's leaving the arena after another check-in with the trainers when Boychuk calls his name. Dylan turns and waits as he jogs up. "How's she settling in?" he asks.

"Pretty good, all things considered," Dylan replies. "She misses her dad, but Uncle Ryan makes up for it a little."

Boychuk raises an eyebrow. "Translation: she's clinging to you like a tiny koala."

"You guessed it," Dylan says, smiling a little. "It's not the worst thing ever, but I still feel bad, you know?"

"I think the first thing babies learn is how to lay a guilt trip." Boychuk laughs a little and shakes his head. "If you feel bad, you're probably doing something right."

"Good," Dylan says, laughing. "How's your family?"

"Good, doing well," Boychuk says. "I'm actually here on orders from my wife. She wants to meet the newest tiny Islander, and you're invited, too."

"Oh, cool, we can fail to eat dinner while our kids fight over toys." The nanny told Dylan _all_ about how well Aiden got along with Kanon Bozak.

"That's the spirit," Boychuk says cheerily. "We're doing chicken a la king tonight if you're interested."

"I'll have to ask the little general when I pick her up," Dylan replies, "but it sounds good to me." And it'll give Ryan a chance to have the place to himself for a while. Everybody wins in that situation.

"Well, as long as she's in favour, we'll expect you around five," Boychuk says.

"It's a play date," Dylan jokes.

"The twins will be thrilled," Boychuk says, laughing. "They love not being the babiest babies around."

"Alright, see you later." Dylan's smiling when he heads off to get Aiden.

The Isles have been providing a daycare of sorts for Aiden until Dylan finds a nanny. He's hoping to talk to Boychuk about that tonight; the Isles have given him a few names, but he'd like to ask other actual parents for their opinions. Aiden screeches at the top of her lungs the second he walks through the door and flaps her arms so hard she almost falls over.

"Today you want to be a bird, huh?" Dylan says, reaching for her. "How was she?"

"A little fussy when you first left, but she calmed down after I gave her a bottle." Dylan feels a little weird that his kid's babysitter is older than he is, but he's trying hard to get used to it. Rob's an intern who probably has a job offer waiting for him when he graduates, considering he'd been the only one to volunteer for baby duty when management had asked. Rob reaches out to shake Aiden's hand. "Have a good night, kiddo."

"We have a play date, so we're gonna have a great time," Dylan says. "Or we're gonna have a screaming meltdown. Who knows?"

Rob laughs. "Good luck with that." He tickles Aiden's toes, and she squirms in Dylan's arms. Dylan makes a mental note to somehow make sure this guy gets noticed.

"We'll see you Monday," Dylan says, waving Aiden's hand at Rob. "Have a good weekend."

Rob waves back and wishes him luck getting Aiden to nap. Dylan is so getting him a belated Christmas bonus. Maybe a paying job; that would probably be a good thank-you gift.

Aiden babbles in his ear all the way to the car, excited to tell him unintelligible things about her day. "Sounds like you kept Rob pretty busy," Dylan says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Ah, ah, ah," Aiden replies, smacking him in the arm.

"Papa," Dylan corrects, because he's always hopeful.

"Eeeeee," she shrieks.

Dylan blows a raspberry on her neck and then straps her into the car seat.

Ryan's thrilled when he hears that Dylan and Aiden are going out. "Not that I don't love having you guys here," he adds hastily.

"You just got used to being able to hook up whenever you want," Dylan teases.

Ryan shrugs. "I'll probably crash at John's," he says, going for nonchalant but missing by a mile. "I mean, as long as you're okay here on your own."

"I'll be fine," Dylan promises.

"Great," Ryan says, smiling. "Then I'm gonna head out. Have a good night."

"You too." Dylan waits until Ryan's a safe distance away and then calls out, "Don't break the captain."

Ryan wiggles his hips. "Maybe you should be telling him not to break me."

"If you were that easy to break, you wouldn't have made it through World Juniors." Dylan doesn't ever want specifics, but enough people have dropped hints.

Ryan points at Aiden. "Family tradition."

"I did all mine with the same person," Dylan says mildly. "Not that I'm judging, but I get the impression that you slept with more people than you had nights in which to do so."

"World Juniors was fun," Ryan says.

Dylan shrugs. "Like I said: you're not that easy to break."

Ryan grins. "You don't know John," he singsongs.

"Not the way you do," Dylan concedes. "Pretty sure that would be a major penalty in marriage."

Ryan opens his mouth, then makes a face and closes it. "I was about to suggest you and your husband have a threesome with my boyfriend," he says. "I'm gonna go before i have any other ideas that I never want to think about again."

"The couple that plays together stays together," Dylan teases, waggling his eyebrows. "Go fuck your boyfriend before someone makes him a better offer."

"Like they could," Ryan says, clearly finding the idea hilarious. "If Aiden won't go to sleep, call me and I'll read her _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_."

"I'll hold you to that," Dylan replies, and waves him out the door.

Dylan puts Aiden down for a nap and then does some laundry. He should probably be used to how much laundry a tiny baby creates, but he's really not. One thing he has gotten used to, though: cramming in the things he needs to get done while Aiden's asleep. The laundry's going to take a while, so Dylan sits down for the first time in hours. He texts Boychuk and looks at his email. There's one from Connor demanding video of what Aiden's been up to, so Dylan sends him a bunch of those. It's amazing how much she's changed in just a couple of months. And by amazing, Dylan means slightly terrifying.

Boychuk texts back his address, along with a photo of his daughters. _just turned 3 before you got here,_ Boychuk says. _they'll be thrilled if you know that._

_got it_ , Dylan replies. _should I bring anything besides a cute baby?_

_nah we've got you covered_ , Boychuk answers. _just bring her and whatever she needs. we've got a highchair she can use._

Dylan sends him a thumbs up emoji, and settles in to write a reply to an email from his agent—yes, he's settling in fine, no the Isles haven't been assholes, sure he'll do some media eventually, and he's fine with Aaron and Sylvie coordinating on that. By the time he finishes that up, Aiden is making her snuffly waking-up noises in the other room. Dylan sighs and checks his watch. "Wow, a whole hour. You won't be cranky later at all."

He could try leaving her in there to see if she'll fall back asleep, but it's just as likely that she'll wake up and start doing her air raid siren impression, and then she'll be miserable the entire night instead of just the end of it. Dylan gets up and heads to the nursery, pausing to take a snap for Mitch. The caption reads "too cute for naps."

Mitch replies with every heart emoji in the dictionary.

Dylan switches over to take video as Aiden yawns widely and blinks herself awake. "Hi, Aiden. Are you ready for your play date?"

She coos and reaches for him.

Dylan brushes his fingers over her soft hair, and she gives him a gummy smile. He stops recording, sending the video to Mitch before he scoops her up.

"Buh," she says before starting to suck on his shirt.

Dylan bounces her in his arms. "Don't worry, I got your good side." She laughs, and he smiles. "You're right, you don't have a bad side." Then he wrinkles his nose. "That is definitely a bad diaper, though. What do you think, bath before you have an audience?" 

She yells excitedly when he walks into the bathroom. "That's right, it's time to splash Papa." After food, soaking Dylan from head to toe is her favourite thing.

"Let's get you ready for company," he says, turning the water on and smiling down at her. "And then we'll go make friends."

-0-

Dylan still knows the Leafs' schedule pretty much by heart, so he knows that Mitch has Sunday off. It makes it a good day to call, because he won't be interrupting nap time or cutting it close to game time.

When he answers, Mitch's face fills the entire screen. "Hi," he says, waving wildly.

Dylan grins at him. "Hey. Wanna go wake Aiden up from her nap with me?"

"My best girl? Of course I do." Mitch squirms happily, making the screen wobble.

Dylan switches the view on his camera as he walks down the hall, so Mitch is looking out instead of at Dylan's face. "She's been making waking-up noises for a couple minutes."

Mitch sighs. "It's been so quiet here without her. She's so chatty."

"She is," Dylan confirms, making a mental note to send more videos. He pauses at her door. "Ready?"

"Ready," Mitch confirms.

Dylan pushes the door open and walks in. Sure enough, Aiden's already awake, blinking at him from her crib. She coos loudly and flaps her arms in her go-to pick me up right now signal.

"Hey, baby girl," Dylan says, adjusting the phone so Mitch can see her. "Guess who's on the phone?"

"Hi Aiden." Mitch's voice is soft, but Aiden hears him just fine.

"Abababa," she says, turning her head and looking at the wall, and then looking back at Dylan. He switches the camera view back around, then turns the phone towards Aiden so she and Mitch can see each other.

"Did you have a good sleep?" Mitch asks. "Naps are pretty awesome."

She shrieks and beams, reaching for the phone.

Mitch laughs. "Ahh, I know! Everything's so exciting!"

"She misses you," Dylan tells him.

"I miss her too," Mitch says, sighing a little. "Okay, put me down and change her. I bet she needs it."

Dylan wrinkles his nose. "Just be glad no-one's invented smell-o-vision. I'll save you a really bad one for All Star Weekend."

"I'll take it," Mitch promises. "Is Ryan sticking around, or has he found something else to do?"

"Actually, he volunteered to babysit." Dylan snorts. "Probably because he doesn't want us to turn him into a Sad Burke meme."

Mitch laughs. "How bad are we gonna scar him? That's the real question."

"That depends entirely on how many visible hickeys you leave all over me," Dylan says as he finishes up the diaper change.

"Lots," Mitch says immediately. "Not that I want to chase him to JT's place, but I sort of want you to myself."

"JT's going to LA," Dylan reminds him, and grabs Aiden before she can roll herself off the changing table.

"Right," Mitch says. "Ryan can water his plants."

Aiden starts babbling loudly. "I know," Dylan tells her. "You love Uncle Ryan."

"But she loves Daddy more, right?" Mitch says. It sounds like he's going for joking, but Dylan can hear the uncertainty.

"She loves Daddy the most," Dylan promises. "She barely slept for a week after we got here, because there was no Daddy to hurt her ears with terrible singing." He scoops Aiden up, and she grabs for the phone so she can try to squish Mitch's face. She starts chattering immediately, telling Mitch all about how terrible it is without him in Brooklyn.

"I love you too," Mitch says, grinning so wide it has to hurt.

"Ba," she says forcefully.

"Hey, Marns," someone calls in the background on Mitch's end. "Where do you keep the extra toilet paper?"

"In the bathroom, where the toilet is," Mitch yells back. "Look in the cabinet under the sink."

"Thanks," the person yells back. The voice sounds familiar, but the guy isn't close enough to the phone for Dylan to tell who it is.

"Ba-ba-BAH!" Aiden declares, probably annoyed Mitch dared to talk to someone who isn't her; she does that to Dylan all the time, which has made living with Ryan extra-loud.

"Sorry, sweetie," Mitch says, looking back at her. "Uncle Momo is staying here until his ankle feels better, and trust me, it's very important that he knows where the extra toilet paper is."

"Do I want to know?" Dylan asks, trying not to laugh. If Momo's regressed to teenage levels of masturbation, nobody needs to know that.

"High ankle sprain," Mitch says, wincing a little. "And he's got stairs at his place, so he's making himself at home in the first floor bedroom here."

"And not pouting at all over his plans to date the hell out of Auston being sidelined," Dylan adds. He wishes he had popcorn.

"I think he might be dedicating himself to figuring out the best plan of attack," Mitch admits.

"Okay, this sounds like gossip circle time," Dylan says. "I definitely need a snack for that."

"Ahhhh," Aiden says, smacking her lips.

Mitch snorts. "Food's still her favourite thing, huh?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't expect that to change any time soon," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. He carries Aiden to the kitchen and sets his phone on the table, so Mitch can keep up a running commentary while he feeds the Aiden-beast. He tells her about Leafs practice, and how Uncle Auston and Uncle Momo are being ridiculous.

"They honestly think I don't notice when they kiss in the back seat," Mitch complains. "I mean, I have to concentrate when I'm driving on ice, but I'm not that oblivious."

"Uh uh uh," Aiden says, replying to Mitch but not looking away from where Dylan's finishing making her bottle.

"Momo leaves chapstick marks on Auston's cheek. It's the worst," Mitch continues.

"No, it could be worse," Dylan interjects, picking Aiden up and sticking the bottle into her mouth. She grunts happily. "He could refuse to use chapstick, and then you'd hear weird sandpapery noises."

Mitch shudders. "Thanks for making it worse."

"You love me anyway," Dylan says sweetly.

"I admit nothing," Mitch replies, but his smile betrays him. "How are things in New York?"

"Going well so far," Dylan says. "We had dinner with the Boychuks the other night. I got some good leads on a nanny service and a new doctor for Aiden."

Mitch's face twitches, but he manages to keep smiling. Sort of. "It's good that you're getting settled in."

"You'll get to come see for yourself in a few days," Dylan reminds him. "We can't wait."

"Me neither." Mitch zones out for a while, eyes locked on Aiden.

Dylan's excited to see him, and he's definitely going to take Ryan up on his offer to take Aiden for a night. He wants them to all have family time, but he'd also like some time alone with his husband.

-0-

Mitch's last game before the All Star break is against the Flyers. The Leafs lose 2-1 in a decent game, and Mitch is ringing Dylan's doorbell three hours later. Aiden's wide awake and overexcited, like somehow she knew he was coming and she set an alarm. Dylan's exhausted just looking at her. Dylan buzzes Mitch up as soon as he rings the bell, and as soon as he opens the door, Aiden loses her tiny mind.

"Wow," Mitch says as he takes her from Dylan's arms. "I wish I had your energy. You make Daddy feel like an old man."

"Hi," Dylan says, wrapping both of them in a hug.

"Hi yourself." Mitch snuggles close, rubbing his nose on Dylan's neck.

Dylan clings more than a little and he's aware of it, but Mitch doesn't move away and Aiden is humming happily between them.

"Aiden sandwich," Mitch jokes. "It's the best."

"I don't think she's complaining," Dylan says. "We'd for sure know if she was."

Aiden wriggles a little, but she keeps humming to herself. Dylan hopes she's finally getting sleepy.

"Let's just stay here and sway a little," Mitch says, like he's reading Dylan's mind. "Maybe she'll drop off."

Dylan yawns, and closes his eyes. "I love you. You're the smartest."

Mitch presses closer and snakes an arm around Dylan's waist, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Don't you fall asleep too," he says. "I can only carry one of you at a time."

"But you're so cuddly." Dylan smiles and kisses the top of Mitch's head.

Mitch laughs. "A few minutes," he says, swaying side to side. "She's dropping."

Dylan sways with him. "You're magical."

"You're gross," Ryan says from the doorway. "Also, apparently I've become the kind of person who wakes up 'cause the baby _isn't_ crying."

"Welcome to parenthood," Mitch says. "Come hug us."

Ryan trudges over, his footsteps so heavy Dylan can hear how tired he is without seeing his face. He slumps against Mitch's back and peers over his shoulder. "Go to sleep, Aiden. Uncle Ryan really wants his bed."

Aiden wriggles her hand free and reaches up to pat Ryan on the nose.

He kisses her fingers. "Thanks, kiddo."

"Think she's ready for the c-r-i-b?" Mitch asks.

"We can move that way," Dylan says. "Slowly."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna try that while I'm this tired," Ryan says. "Night, guys. Aiden, I love you, and please sleep through the night."

Aiden coos at him, which is close enough to agreement.

Dylan pulls away so he can walk behind Mitch down the hall to the nursery. Mitch has never been in this apartment, but he's been on enough FaceTime tours of the place to know exactly where he's heading.

"Daddy's magic," Dylan repeats. "You're going to sleep all night, and it'll be great."

"So great," Mitch singsongs. "Everyone will get so much awesome sleep."

Dylan really hopes so. He doesn't want to stay up until sunrise ever again. Luckily, Aiden appears to be almost completely passed out on Mitch's chest. Dylan isn't actually surprised; it's way too late for her to be up, and once she got out her excitement at Mitch getting there, she probably didn't have much energy left.

Mitch carefully sets her down in the crib and rubs her belly until she settles. It doesn't take long for her to let out a quiet sigh and go still, and Mitch steps away carefully, fistpumping when she doesn't stir.

"Still got it," he whispers proudly.

"Allow me to reward you by showing you the bedroom," Dylan says, leading him out of the room. "Clean sheets. Pillows. Sleeping."

Mitch holds tight to Dylan's hand, and when they get to the bedroom he reels Dylan in for a kiss. "I missed you so much," he murmurs against Dylan's mouth.

"I missed you too." Dylan pulls Mitch down onto the bed and wraps him in an octopus hug.

Mitch cuddles up against him. "I'm glad I decided to drive up here in my sweats," he says. "They make good pajamas, which means I don't have to get out of this bed."

"Mmm, sounds good to me."

They drift off like that, curled into each other, and it's the best sleep Dylan has had since he left Toronto.

Waking up next to Mitch is even better. There's light coming in around the curtains, and it feels like magic. They actually slept through the night.

He can hear Ryan talking in the living room, and when Ryan stops, Aiden starts up. He must've gotten up when she did to let Dylan and Mitch sleep; he's the best brother anyone could ask for, and Dylan's going to give him one free pass on chirping him about JT as thanks.

"Is it time for breakfast?" Mitch asks without opening his eyes.

"I think we can make that happen, yeah," Dylan replies.

Mitch beams with happiness, and Dylan can't help kissing him. It's not like Dylan was planning on ravishing his husband with Ryan and Aiden in the next room, but he's cut off more quickly than he planned when his stomach growls and Mitch starts laughing.

"Romance is dead," Dylan says flatly.

"I love you," Mitch says, still laughing. "Let's eat and then chase Ryan out of the apartment by being super gross."

Dylan reluctantly gets out of bed. "What did you have in mind?"

"Either we make out on the sofa until he dumps Aiden on us and walks out, or we cuddle and baby talk with her until he's grossed out by parenthood," Mitch says. "I like Ryan, don't get me wrong, but..."

"He's not the one you're here to see," Dylan finishes for him. "At least I hope not." Dylan turns around and drops his pants, stepping out of his dirty boxers.

Mitch wolf-whistles. "Definitely not," he agrees.

Dylan wiggles his hips, and strips off his t-shirt.

"You said Ryan offered to babysit, right?" Mitch says, and Dylan can practically hear him leering. "Not tonight, but I say we take him up on that tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me." Dylan gets clean clothes out of the dresser, and Mitch makes a sad noise. Dylan snorts. "Going out there naked isn't going to win us any favours from Ryan," he points out.

Mitch sighs and kicks off the covers. "The things I do for you."

Dylan smirks at him, making it as dirty as he can. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

Mitch wriggles out of his sweats and throws them at Dylan's head. "You're torturing me."

"Maybe," Dylan allows. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Mitch gives him a slow, dirty smile. "I guess you're just gonna have to wait and find out."


	41. Chapter 41

"So I'm going to JT's," Ryan says when they finish eating. "I don't want to accidentally hear even one thing. Let me know when you want me to watch Aiden."

"Aww, thanks," Mitch replies, disgustingly sweet. He takes Dylan's hand, linking their fingers together and swinging them a little.

Ryan makes a face. "I'm going, I'm going." He gives Aiden one last cuddle and then dumps her in Mitch's lap.

"Oh look, a baby," Mitch says, smiling down at her.

Aiden coos and babbles, telling them all about her exciting morning on the sofa with Uncle Ryan. Mitch nods along, giving her his finger to hold.

Dylan checks his watch. "If we're lucky she'll go down for a nap soon."

"Yay," Mitch coos. "Are you full after your bottle, baby bear? Are you getting sleepy?"

Aiden headbutts him in the chest and uses her free hand to rub at her eyes.

"Very sleepy," Dylan agrees. "So sleepy that napping won't be a problem." At least, napping for Daddy won't be a problem. Dylan's a little worried that when Mitch goes home he'll be back to square one, with a tired, lonely baby. That's definitely a problem for later-Dylan, though, so he lets Mitch walk Aiden down the hall and into the nursery.

Mitch's eyes light up when he sees the Aiden-size rocking horse. "Okay, it already looked cute on video, but this is insane."

"She will be more than happy to model it for you later," Dylan promises.

Mitch kisses the top of Aiden's head and sways with her until she starts drooping. Having him here in New York is a lot to take in; Dylan's not sure how he's ever going to see this space the same way, now that he's had Mitch filling up its empty corners. He puts Aiden into her crib and rubs her back, then looks up and smiles softly at Dylan.

"She definitely missed you," Dylan whispers.

"I miss her too," Mitch says quietly. "And you. Momo's great, but..." He trails off and shrugs.

Dylan takes Mitch's hand and squeezes it. "Let's go to my room."

"Yeah," Mitch says, following him out.

They curl up together on Dylan's bed, Mitch pressing as close as humanly possible. Dylan closes his eyes and holds him tightly.

"She doesn't want to sleep for me or Ryan," Dylan confesses. "I don't know what to do."

"She'll get used to it," Mitch murmurs. "Don't get me wrong, part of me is really happy that she's not 100% fine here so quickly, but... she'll get used to it. And you can always call me."

Dylan sighs. "I know. I just wish things could be easier."

"Some day," Mitch promises. "I don't know how, but it will be. Maybe I'll get traded to the Devils with Hallsy."

"I haven't even started playing yet, and I'm exhausted." Dylan squeezes his eyes shut so he won't cry.

"You don't have a nanny yet," Mitch points out.

"I should have figured that out by now," Dylan says. His voice wobbles and he doesn't even really care. "I've been here for a week and a half, and I'm already behind." Mitch being here, in the apartment, makes it all real.

"Hey," Mitch says soothingly. "How can I help? Do you have nanny stuff to go over? You said Boychuk gave you some leads. I can help with that."

"I—yeah." Dylan takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. "Yes please. I'm so tired I just can't think."

Mitch presses a kiss to Dylan's forehead. "Sleep, babe. We'll figure it out this afternoon." He rubs Dylan's back, just like he had with Aiden. It's ridiculously soothing, and Dylan drops off to sleep almost immediately.

When he wakes up later he's alone, and Mitch's side of the bed is cool to the touch. Somehow he extracted himself from the cuddle pile without waking Dylan. When he stumbles out to the living room, he finds Mitch on his laptop, reading something on the screen. "Babe," Dylan croaks out. "What...?"

"He lives," Mitch says, smiling at him. He pats the sofa next to him. "I started looking into that list of names that you got from Boychuk. I made a spreadsheet."

Dylan flops down next to him. "If you could marry a file format, I'd be really worried."

"You're cuter than spreadsheets," Mitch promises, leaning over to peck him on the cheek.

Dylan smiles and wriggles happily. "What's the spreadsheet going to tell me?"

"Services offered, links to general reviews, price, if there's any stipulation about their availability," Mitch rattles off. "Things we should compare. I knocked one person off the list because apparently he moved to South Dakota since the Boychuks looked into him, and that's a hell of a commute."

Dylan tackles him, almost knocking the laptop onto the floor. "I love you."

"Right back at you," Mitch says, threading his fingers into Dylan's hair. He pulls and Dylan leans in easily, but just as their lips brush, Aiden starts making waking-up noises.

"So we're getting Ryan to babysit tomorrow, right?" Dylan says right up against Mitch's mouth.

"Very definitely," Mitch says. Dylan can feel him smiling. "Let's go get her up and see what she wants to do."

"Eat," Dylan predicts. It's always a safe bet with Aiden. She's always hungry, always growing, always kicking; Matt jokes that she's going to be taller than Mitch by the time she's five.

"Well, yeah," Mitch says, laughing a little as he pushes Dylan off. "After that, I mean. Maybe she'll be up for going out for a little while."

Dylan has his doubts; it's January in New York, and Aiden hates being cold. On the other hand, she has her Daddy security blanket to put her in a good mood. "What did you want to go out and do?" he asks.

Mitch ducks his head and smiles softly. "I found some baby furniture places in Brooklyn and I thought—Aiden really likes her rocking horse, right?"

"She does," Dylan says as they walk towards Aiden's room. "We can put her in it after her bottle if you want to see it in person."

"I totally want to see that," Mitch replies. "But also I was thinking—she didn't like the rocking chair that much when she was first born, but maybe she'd like something similar now."

Dylan perks up a little. "She might. And it might help her sleep."

"Exactly! Maybe not a chair, because this place is already full of stuff," Mitch says, looking around pointedly. "But they have some little baby-sized rocking cribs. I thought we could try some out and see if Aiden has a preference."

"She will definitely have a preference," Dylan says dryly, but he's grinning. "That's a great idea."

Mitch scoops Aiden up, and spins around with her. "Did you hear that? Daddy's a genius."

She laughs and throws her head back as he spins.

It's an intensely Disney-esque moment. Dylan wouldn't want it any other way.

-0-

Aiden has the best day ever. She has the undivided attention of both her parents, and she gets to try out things she's allowed to kick and wriggle in. They put her in a rocker that has soft toys dangling from a bar over her, and it's really obvious that it's her favourite. "Oooooh," she coos, flailing up at them.

"She can't stand being bored," Mitch says fondly. "I have no idea where she gets that from."

Dylan slings his arm around Mitch's waist. "Yeah, no clue."

He's tempted to take the display model and run, but the salesperson assures them it's not that hard to put the rocker together. Dylan hopes she's right. The only person he knows who can sweet-talk some-assembly-required furniture is JT, and he's in LA right now. It'd be embarrassing to have to FaceTime him over this.

Mitch puts the box in the back of the car while Dylan straps Aiden into her car seat, and she keeps reaching out to smack the box in glee.

"If this works, Ryan's going to be sexiled forever," Dylan declares.

Mitch grins and waggles his eyebrows. "I hope it works."

Aiden stays wide awake on the drive back to the apartment, because she lives for being contrary. She talks to her new rocker pretty much the whole way.

"Seriously, start making a list of what you want to do," Dylan tells Mitch. "If I actually manage to get her to sleep on my own..."

"If you think I don't already have a list, think again," Mitch replies.

They pull up to a stoplight, and Dylan takes his hand off the steering wheel so he can fistpump the roof of the car. Mitch laughs, and Aiden joins him, which makes Mitch laugh even harder.

When they get home Dylan puts Aiden down for tummy time, and he and Mitch get to work on the rocker. She's started to wriggle around like she's trying to turn over. "Look at you, clever girl!" Mitch says. 

Dylan elbows him in the ribs. "Don't encourage her. She's already mobile enough."

"You're gonna have to send me video when she starts rolling around the apartment," Mitch says, clicking parts of the rocker together.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "Duh. Of course."

"Roll, roll, roll," Mitch singsongs, leaning over to boop Aiden's nose. Aiden beams at him, Marner smile in full effect, and Dylan has to look away. The two of them together are too much. 

The rocker looks like it's coming along pretty well; it looks like the one in the store, which is good news. Dylan focuses on that for the next half an hour, while Mitch gets distracted by cooing and giggling and baby workouts.

"Okay," he finally says, sitting back from it. "I think it's structurally sound."

"You get her, I'll get a bottle," Mitch offers.

"Sounds good," Dylan says, scooping her up. Aiden gazes up at him with a look that might be love, or might be gas. All Dylan knows is that she's concentrating really hard. A moment later, he's got the answer to that question. "Gonna change her first," he calls to Mitch, making a face.

"Shopping is hard work," Mitch calls back. Dylan can tell by the tone of his voice that he's probably laughing on the inside.

"So much for Daddy volunteering for the gross ones," Dylan says to Aiden as he carries her back to her room.

Aiden does her best to bicycle-kick poop everywhere, which is just awesome. Dylan captures her feet just in time. She giggles at him like it's the best joke ever.

"You are the grossest little troll," Dylan sings to her. "Little stinky butt."

Aiden just keeps laughing at him.

He makes pretty quick work of the diaper change, then picks her up and heads to the kitchen. "Your daughter is gross," he tells Mitch.

"She is not," Mitch protests. Aiden, who's been chewing on her hand, tries to stick slobbery fingers up Mitch's nose. He grabs her hand and shakes it lightly, then takes her from Dylan and sticks her bottle into her mouth. She starts her happy grunting immediately. "What do you say, little bear?" Mitch says. "Are you gonna hibernate for Papa?"

Predictably, she doesn't stop eating to answer.

"I'm gonna go wrap up the little gift she left in her diaper and take it to the curb," Dylan says.

"Nah, here," Mitch says. They complete the transfer pretty easily. "I'll get it. You changed the diaper."

Aiden snuggles in close, happy and full. This part is normal; the trouble usually comes when Dylan dares to put her down. "You gonna sleep for Papa?" Dylan asks, rocking her a little. "I know you don't like to, but I'd really like it."

Aiden whines and gets a fistful of Dylan's shirt.

"I'm not going anywhere yet," Dylan promises. "And when I do, I'll always come back."

She rubs her face on his shirt and sighs as deeply as she can. Dylan bounces her in his arms as they head into the living room.

"You wanna try to sleep in your new rocker?" he murmurs, slowly leaning down and laying her on the mattress.

Aiden's entire face crumples; she's the saddest baby in the world.

Dylan moves fast, turning on the rocking function before she can completely lose it and sitting down close enough for her to grab his hand. Aiden blinks at him like she's unsure whether or not she likes it or not, but she doesn't cry. Dylan leans over and grabs a blanket, spreading it over her.

"Oooh," Aiden says, because her favourite thing after food is being snuggly and warm.

"Yeah," Dylan murmurs, rubbing her belly. "You're nice and warm, and you're in your cool new rocker. How much do you wanna sleep?"

Aiden frowns at him, but her eyelids are already getting heavy and her grip on his hand goes slack.

"Yeah, good job, go to sleep," Dylan says quietly. "This rocker is Papa's new best friend."

Aiden hums, uncertain, and keeps her eyes locked on him suspiciously even as her eyelids try to slip closed. She's a little dragon guarding her hoard—and her hoard is having Dylan cuddle her at all times, just so she knows he's not going to disappear. Eventually, though, sleep wins the fight, and her eyes stop blinking back open.

Dylan doesn't move an inch, and he slows his breath so he won't startle her. After a minute, he pulls his hand slowly back. Aiden doesn't stir. He texts Mitch so that he knows to be quiet when he comes back in. Then he sits back and just enjoys the wonder that is a sleeping baby. After a minute, he takes a photo and sends it to Connor. _look what i did!!!_

Connor sends back a string of question marks, eventually followed by _omg you made a baby when did that happen?_

_hi honey bunch_ , Dylan texts.

_marns' best assist of last year tbh,_ he gets back.

_nugget, you say the sweetest things_. Dylan takes a video of himself doing his best Disney princess eyelash-flutter, and hits sends just as Mitch walks in the door.

_i aim to please sweetums_ , Nuge texts a minute later.

"Sugar plum complimented your assist," Dylan whispers as Mitch settles beside him.

"Which one?" Mitch whispers back.

Dylan just points at Aiden.

Mitch's eyes go wide, and then he buries his head in Dylan's shoulder so he doesn't wake Aiden up as he laughs. "I really hope they don't start collecting stats on that," Mitch says in Dylan's ear.

"Still a better stat than plus-minus," Dylan whispers back.

Mitch's entire body shakes with suppressed laughter, and he puts a hand over his mouth.

"Let's go in the other room so we don't wake her up," Dylan says. "And we can call Ryan to come get her for the night."

Mitch gets up and waggles his eyebrows. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Absolutely," Dylan says, grinning up at him.

Mitch takes Dylan's hand and pulls him up to his feet. "Good." They kiss, and it's pretty PG but Dylan's confident it won't stay that way.

"Let's go call Ryan," he says when Mitch draws back.

Mitch smiles at him. "Yeah, let's."

-0-

Ryan looks like he wants to kiss Mitch when they explain the rocker and how Aiden likes sleeping in it. He holds himself back, but he does take the rocker with him and Aiden back to JT's place after dinner, and then Dylan and Mitch are alone.

They stare at each other for a minute. It's been weeks since they were completely alone together, and Dylan kinda feels like his coach randomly canceled practice the day of a big game. He's supposed to have all this stuff to do but now he just... doesn't. It's weird.

Mitch laughs a little. "This is kind of ridiculous, right?"

"Totally," Dylan agrees. He picks up his plate from dinner, and then sets it back down. Is this really the time to do the dishes?

"Okay," Mitch says, sounding determined. "Bedroom. Naked. We'll improvise from there."

Dylan doesn't have to be told twice. He strips off his shirt as he crosses the room. He doesn't look behind him as he walks, but he can hear Mitch doing the same. By the time Dylan drops his pants, kicks them away, and turns around, Mitch is gloriously naked.

"Nice," Dylan says approvingly, taking a step towards him.

Mitch grins, tilting his head back for a kiss. Dylan leans down, and suddenly it's easy like it wasn't in the dining room. Mitch's hands come up to clutch at Dylan's shoulders, and Dylan kisses him hard enough to show he isn't going anywhere.

Mitch softens the kiss after a moment, running his hands down Dylan's back to grab his ass.

"Missed my assets, huh?" Dylan teases.

"They're plentiful," Mitch says, squeezing a little. "I definitely noticed their absence."

Dylan starts walking backwards to the bed, and Mitch follows. He's expecting the shove down onto the bed when he gets close enough, and sure enough, Mitch slides his hands up and pushes. Dylan wraps his arms around Mitch's waist at the same time, and they both fall.

Mitch doesn't waste any time straddling Dylan's lap. "Hi."

"Hi," Dylan replies, settling his hands on Mitch's hips. Mitch knows him as well as he knows Mitch, so he braces himself for the flip. Mitch doesn't disappoint, and he beams happily once he's on his back with his legs wrapped around Dylan. Dylan leans down to kiss him again, and Mitch tilts his head back to meet his lips. Dylan never wants to get used to this; he never wants to take for granted how good it is to have Mitch back again.

He pulls back so he can look down and take in the sight of Mitch beneath him. He's flushed all the way down his chest, hair mussed and lips slick and red. Dylan has never wanted anyone the way he wants Mitch.

Mitch rests his hand on the back of Dylan's neck. "What do you want?" he murmurs.

Dylan goes boneless. He plants his elbows on the mattress so he won't completely crush Mitch, and presses close skin-to-skin with his nose tucked under Mitch's chin. "You. Always."

"You've got me," Mitch says softly. running his hands up Dylan's back. "I love you."

Dylan kisses him behind his ear. "I love you too." He rocks his hips, and Mitch groans. "What do _you_ want?" he asks, rocking down again.

"Just keep moving," Mitch says, grabbing Dylan's hip. "We can get off like this."

Dylan grins. "You sure? I mean, we can, but I thought maybe I could suck you off."

"Or that," Mitch says desperately. "Anything."

Dylan noses behind Mitch's ear for a moment just to make him whine, then pushes himself up so he can make his way down Mitch's body.

Mitch whines when Dylan stops to bite at his hip. "Impatient?" Dylan asks innocently, resting his chin on Mitch's hip and looking up at him.

"I've had so many wet dreams about you nobody wants to room with me," Mitch confesses.

"Fuck," Dylan groans. "Fine, okay, I guess I don't have to tease." He proves his point by moving his head, looking at Mitch as he licks around the head of Mitch's dick.

Mitch squirms and begs shamelessly. Dylan definitely has it in him to drag it out, but not tonight. He rubs his thumb over Mitch's balls, and uses every trick he knows to get Mitch shaking.

Mitch threads his fingers through Dylan's hair, gasping. "Babe," he croaks out. "Please."

Dylan hollows his cheeks, sucking hard, and Mitch's back arches as he comes. There's no such thing as an orgasm face that looks good, but Dylan looks up as well as he can anyway, taking in the sight. He's hard and aching; taking Mitch apart does it for him like nothing else.

"Dylan," Mitch sighs as he comes down. He tugs lightly at Dylan's hair. "C'mere."

Dylan crawls up the bed and flops next to him. Mitch turns his head immediately, and Dylan leans in to kiss him. Mitch slides his hand down to Dylan's thigh and Dylan bucks his hips, whining into Mitch's mouth.

"I've got you," Mitch promises, getting a firm grip on Dylan's cock.

"Yeah," Dylan gasps, thrusting. Mitch sucks a hickey into Dylan's neck as he jerks him off. It's good, so good; Dylan isn't going to last long.

"Come for me, babe," Mitch whispers, and that's it, Dylan's done. He comes all over Mitch's hand, his hip, his belly. Mitch kisses him through it, jerking him until Dylan's shuddering and whimpering.

"You... Fuck, babe," Dylan says against Mitch's lips.

"Not yet, but we have all night."

"Mmmm, yeah we do," Dylan says, satisfied. "You said you had ideas. How many can we get through?"

Mitch grins. "The bathroom has a pretty awesome shower head."

"You noticed, huh?" Dylan says. "I was pretty happy when I saw it, too."

"I definitely need to clean up," Mitch replies, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. "Wanna help?"

"Absolutely," Dylan says, grinning. "The hot water lasts forever. We can take a nice, long shower."

If Dylan happens to spread Mitch out and make him scream, well. No-one's here to complain. And from the look Mitch is giving him, Dylan figures he might get some screaming done, too.

-0-

Having Mitch around for a long weekend is amazing, but saying goodbye fucking sucks. Aiden is miserable, which isn't shocking. Dylan's not doing too well either, and Ryan looks like he's torn between offering everyone a hug and bolting back to JT's. Dylan rethinks his plan of dropping Mitch off at the airport; Aiden's yelling at the top of her lungs, and the general public doesn't deserve that.

"It's fine," Mitch says, trying to soothe Aiden and hug Dylan at the same time. "It's okay, I promise. I'll Skype you later, okay?"

Aiden rubs her snotty face on his shirt.

"It's okay," Mitch repeats, kissing her head. "Daddy loves you, sweetheart."

"We'll be fine," Dylan lies, plastering on a smile because Mitch needs it.

"They'll be fine," Ryan echoes, coming up beside them. He's got his determined face on. "Aiden's gonna have a bottle and then nap in her cool new rocker, and Dylan's going to eat something and then nap _not_ in a rocker, and everyone's gonna be great. I promise."

It's ridiculous; it's a promise Ryan can't possibly make. Still, it makes Mitch smile a little, and for that, Dylan's grateful. "I guess that's all I can ask for."

Thank god for big brother magic.

Aiden settles a bit when she hears the B word, and Ryan gives Dylan a _look_.

"Yeah, okay," Dylan says, taking a deep breath. He leans in and kisses Mitch, quick and firm. "I love you, and I'll see you when you're here in a week."

Mitch gives Aiden one last hug and then hands her over. She blinks her big, watery eyes at him, then turns and buries her face in Dylan's shirt. "One week," Mitch echoes.

"I'll drive you," Ryan says, slinging an arm around Mitch's shoulders. "C'mon. The last thing you need is to miss your flight."

Mitch picks up his bag and reluctantly heads for the door. When he looks back at the last minute, Dylan waves one of Aiden's hands at him. Mitch manages a smile that only trembles around the corners a little, then turns and walks out.

"Okay, Aiden," Dylan says softly. "It's food time. You love food time."

She sniffles, and Dylan grabs a baby wipe from the nearest box. He'd laughed when Ryan had stashed them all around the apartment, but he's been grateful to have them in reach more than once. Aiden doesn't even protest when Dylan cleans her face, so she's definitely down in the dumps. Dylan boops her red, sad little nose.

"Bottle bottle bottle," he says, bouncing her a little. "Who wants a yummy bottle?"

"Grrr," Aiden says.

"I know, I should've gotten it ready first," Dylan replies. "Mean Papa, making you wait five whole minutes."

She retaliates by sucking on his shirt. Dylan hurries to the kitchen before she can get _really_ mad and try to bite his nipple.

Luckily, he gets it warmed up before Aiden hits critical mass, and she calms down significantly once she's eating. Dylan paces the apartment with her, talking quietly. By the time she finishes, she's almost asleep; emotions are exhausting, Dylan agrees. He wraps her in one of Mitch's less gross t-shirts and puts her in the rocker. She doesn't go down as easily as she does for Mitch, but she doesn't fight him for more than a few minutes. She takes a series of deep, heavy breaths, and her eyes slip shut.

Dylan keeps rubbing her belly for a minute, just to be sure, and then he slowly slumps back against the sofa. Aiden's soft snoring makes his eyes heavy. He should get up and go to his room, probably, but he levers himself up onto the sofa and snags the blanket off the back, and that's pretty much all he's capable of doing before he falls asleep, too.

He wakes up when Ryan shakes his arm. "Hey," he says. "I've been home for about an hour. I figured you didn't want to sleep the whole day."

"Ngh," Dylan replies intelligently.

Ryan laughs quietly. "Also, the princess is making some noise, so she's probably getting up."

Aiden grunts and stretches but she doesn't open her eyes yet.

"Yeah, I guess she's getting there," Dylan acknowledges. He stretches, too, and then sits up. "Mitch make his flight okay?"

"He's all good." Ryan sits down and slings his arms around Dylan's shoulders.

Dylan leans into him. "It's dumb to miss him already."

"You married him for a reason," Ryan points out. "I'd be more worried if you didn't miss him."

Dylan nods. "It was good to have him here? We got a lot of shit done, but I feel like every time we see each other, it's just gonna end like this." It's not a great feeling, and he's trying not to dwell on it.

Ryan squeezes him tight. "We should call Matty sometime and have a Strome slumber party."

"We should," Dylan agrees. He sighs a little. "I should make a bottle before she wakes up for real."

"I'll get it," Ryan offers. "She'll scream bloody murder if she wakes up and has to settle for my ugly mug."

"It's not personal," Dylan tries.

Ryan snorts. "It's extremely personal. I'm the wrong person."

"Half the time I'm not the right person either," Dylan points out.

"Dyls, she loves you," Ryan says. "You're her Papa. She's cranky sometimes because she's three months old." He ruffles Dylan's hair, because there's only so much emotional sincerity two hockey players can take, even if they're Stromes.

"Okay, fine, go make a bottle," Dylan says, shoving him. He looks down at Aiden as Ryan walks out of the room; she's staring at him, but as soon as she notices he's looking, she closes her eyes again.

"You little faker," Dylan says, laughing a little.

She giggles at him. Her eyes open a little, then slam back shut as she starts laughing harder.

Dylan gets out his phone and starts recording. "Are you awake, Aiden?" he asks, and she does the peek-and-giggle again. "Are you trolling Papa?"

Aiden scrunches up her nose and laughs her head off.

"Fakey fakey faker," Dylan singsongs, leaning over to boop her nose. "I'm onto you."

He shuts off his phone and scoops her up. "What do you think, should I send that one to Uncle Connor?" He's going to avoid the D-a-d-d-y word for a little while, but Mitch is definitely getting a copy of Aiden the troll, too.

"Eeee," she says, bonking her head against his shoulder.

"Oh no, you got me!" Dylan falls back on the sofa, mortally wounded.

She shrieks, then starts belly laughing. Dylan can't help but join her, and that's how Ryan finds him when he walks back in with Aiden's bottle.

"Okay, apparently naps are magical," Ryan comments.

"Of course they are," Dylan says. "You knew that."

Ryan waves the bottle. "Oh, then I guess Aiden doesn't need food."

"Oooooo," she says brightly, perking up at the mention of her favourite thing. She wriggles in Dylan's arms, reaching out for her new favourite person. Ryan sits on the other side of the sofa and reaches out, and Aiden goes straight to him. Ryan smiles softly as he gets her settled.

"Are you and JT gonna have kids?" Dylan asks. He's not sure why he blurted it out, but Ryan's so good with Aiden. He's seen how JT looks when Ryan and Aiden are playing, too.

Ryan flinches. "It wouldn't be this easy."

"Because you're not G+," Dylan says. He doesn't know the statistics off the top of his head, but all the new studies coming out say that guys who aren't G+ can't carry kids, and it's really tough for them to get other guys pregnant. "You could use a surrogate. Or adopt, maybe."

"I don't know," Ryan says quietly. "We haven't talked about it. I want to, someday."

Dylan shuffles over on the sofa until he can lean against Ryan's side. "Okay," he says. He pulls his phone out. "Hey, so, I got video of why she was laughing before."

"Oh my god," Ryan says a few seconds in. "She really got you."

"She's such a little troll," Dylan says adoringly. Aiden kicks him in the thigh while she's eating, because she's a genius at multitasking. Dylan has the smartest, funniest baby on the planet, and nobody can tell him otherwise.

-0-

Dylan's got a week to get his shit in order before Mitch comes back, and he's determined to do it. He spends so much time on the phone part of him wonders if Aiden will recognise him when he puts it down. He gets a lot accomplished, though: three days after Mitch leaves, he's got a nanny ready to step in when needed, and he has Aiden's four-month checkup scheduled for right after their anniversary. Dylan rewards himself with a day off, and he takes Aiden out into the city.

One of Sheena's tips when he'd visited the Boychuks had been about a children's museum in the area that apparently has a room with safety padding for kids to practice motor skills. Aiden's been practicing her rolling, and a padded room sounds like the best place to let her roll wild without driving her papa into a padded cell. It won't hurt to get her used to seeing people who aren't Dylan and Ryan, either.

Getting out the door with Aiden takes a lot longer than Dylan had planned, but that's life with a baby. At least he knows to take the bus instead of the subway; it might take a little longer, but at least this way he won't have to wrestle the stroller up the stairs if the elevator is out of order.

Aiden gasps when they get down to the sidewalk, unimpressed by the cold air, but she just burrows under the blanket Dylan piled in with her and hides her face in her Leafs bear.

"You'll have fun when we get there," Dylan promises, pulling the blanket up so she can hide even better. "If you're really cold, Papa will buy you a souvenir blanket or something at the gift shop, okay?"

Aiden growls, chewing aggressively on her toy.

The bus is miraculously on time, and nobody on it makes a rude comment or nasty face when Dylan pushes the stroller on. He picks Aiden up, and she gets to work charming everyone like she wasn't doing her best impression of a grizzly five minutes ago. There's a little boy a few rows back who plays peek-a-boo with her until his stop, and Aiden's wheeze-laughing into Dylan's shoulder by the time he gets off.

"I'm glad you're in a better mood," he tells her.

"Geh," she replies, giving him a gummy smile.

Dylan narrates their walk from the bus stop. It's a beautiful day, for the dead of winter, and someone's cleared away most of the grey slush that used to be snow. It's still too cold for Aiden to un-hibernate, though, so she mostly listens from inside the blanket fortress.

She perks up when they walk into the museum, cooing at the rush of warm air. "Yay, inside," Dylan says, leaning over to pull some of her blankets down. She smiles at him, gnawing on her Leafs bear.

Dylan pays his admission fee and asks for directions, and the guy behind the counter points him to the other side of the building. Dylan waits until he gets to a clear hallway, with no-one else around, and then zooms Aiden along. She shrieks and flings her bear out of the stroller.

Dylan skids to a stop so he can pick up the bear. When he hands it back to her, she's beaming. Dylan has the sinking feeling she's remembering the game.

"Uhhhhhhh," Aiden says, looking up at him. She tosses the bear back to the ground.

"Did Uncle Ryan teach you that?" Dylan complains.

There's a laugh from behind Dylan, and he turns around after picking the bear back up. There's a guy walking towards him with a baby probably a little older than Aiden in his arms. "Tie a piece of string around it," he advises. "Not tight, so you can take it off when she's playing by herself, but then when she drops it..." He mimes yanking something up. "Way easier."

"Thanks for the tip!"

"No problem," the guy says, smiling. "This is number two, so I've had a while to learn. I'm Sam, and this is Kaiden."

Dylan laughs. "I'm Dylan, and the little troll is Aiden. Rhyming names means they have to get along, right?"

"We can only hope," Sam says, grinning. "You heading to the romper room?"

"Yeah," Dylan says. They make small talk as they walk to the room and get their respective babies out of all the winter wear. Aiden's adorably wide-eyed as she looks around at all the bright colours.

"Just put her down wherever," says a woman in a museum shirt. "Whatever looks good to her."

Dylan walks a slow circuit of the room, to see if there's anything Aiden reaches out for.

"Ohhhh," she gasps when they stop in front of a bright yellow sun painted onto the wall.

"Ew," Dylan says. "Yellow is for the Bruins."

Aiden leans over to plant both hands on the sun.

Dylan sighs as he sets her down. "I knew I shouldn't have let you hang out with Uncle Jack so much."

Aiden wriggles with glee and topples promptly onto her belly, reaching for the wall. She growls in annoyance and tries to roll over onto her back. "Need some help?" Dylan asks, trying not to crack up laughing and annoy her even more.

"Ahhhhhh," she says, flailing out with both arms.

Dylan bites his lip and gets out his phone. "Daddy's gonna love this. I'm calling it beached whale." He records about thirty seconds of flailing before he rescues her. "You're free, Aiden!"

"Eeeee," she says happily, looking around. she glances to her left and sees herself in a mirror, which makes her stop dead.

"Don't look," Dylan stage-whispers. "It's an evil doppelgänger."

Aiden growls, and Dylan loses it. The baby in the mirror scowls back at her, and Aiden makes an offended face, like she can't possibly imagine someone not liking her. 

"You are your father's daughter," Dylan tells her, sitting on the floor next to her. "He's gonna laugh so much when I tell him about today."

"She's pretty tiny," Sam says, taking a seat nearby and putting Kaiden down. "How long have you been working with the family?"

"Working," Dylan repeats before it clicks. "Nah, man, she's mine."

Sam blinks. "Oh. Sorry, I just—with the accent, I figured you were here for college or something."

"Sam," a woman hisses from a few feet away. She's got a kid who's probably close to figuring out the walking thing between her legs. "Watch more sports, oh my god."

Sam turns towards her, confused. "What, is he a reporter?"

The woman groans and drops her head, and Dylan laughs a little. "I'm a hockey player," he says, looking around to make sure nobody's looking too interested. "I'm with the Islanders."

"They're in a new ad campaign," the woman adds. "The one with the baby capsule puck."

Dylan gestures at Aiden. "No babies were harmed during the filming of the ad."

"Who watches TV anymore?" Sam says, turning a little red.

"It's fine," Dylan says, smiling. "Trust me, I'd rather people not know who I am than some of the more, uh." He shrugs. "Let's go with 'enthusiastic' fans."

"Oh, god, sorry," the woman says. "I didn't mean to—"

"No, no," Dylan says hastily. "I mean the, um. People have asked me to... sign body parts?" The start of his last year in Erie was kind of weird.

Sam grimaces. "Why?"

"The excuse I got was that they didn't bring anything to get signed," Dylan says. "I got them a team hat."

The woman nods. "Good idea. Otherwise your signature would be tattooed on that person's body right now."

Dylan laughs. "That's exactly what my husband said, yeah." Mitch had laughed for about four days.

Aiden squeals and kicks him in the foot. "Sorry, did we forget about you for five seconds?" Dylan teases, smiling down at her.

She frowns up at him, then tries to stick her whole fist in her mouth.

"Just wait until you're older," Dylan tells her. If Aiden ends up with a big, wide smile like Mitch's, one day she can achieve her dream of eating her entire hand.

"How old is she?" the woman asks. "I'm Marissa, and this is Brianne. She's nine months."

"Aiden's almost four months," Dylan says. "And I guess you already know my name."

"Kaiden's almost seven months," Sam volunteers. "And, uh, sorry. I really don't watch television." Kaiden gets onto his hands and knees and makes a break for the door, and Sam gets up to run after him. 

"I can see why," Dylan says dryly.

Kaiden whines when his crawl is interrupted, and Sam laughs. "His older brother is just over two," he says. "I'm home with the kids while my wife works. I get my workouts in, that's for sure."

The three of them swap baby stories—the good, the bad, and the ugly—until Aiden starts whining for food.

"Like clockwork," Dylan says, patting her belly. "All empty, huh?"

Aiden drools all over herself in response.

Marissa laughs. "Looks like it," she says. "There's a microwave in the room at the end of the hall."

Dylan thanks her and scoops Aiden up. "Nice meeting you."

"You too," Sam ways, waving one of Kaiden's hands.

Kaiden grunts indignantly and pulls his hand back. Dylan's not the only one with a contrary baby.

Sam sighs. "We're working on it, right, buddy?"

Kaiden flaps his own hand, grinning.

Dylan bites his lip and waves Aiden's hand before putting her back into the stroller. "Bye," he says, waving himself as he walks out. He's got a baby to feed.


	42. Chapter 42

The Canes spend the day in New York after beating the Isles in overtime. Noah comes over after breakfast, and the way his eyes widen as he looks around the apartment makes him look so young. Dylan has to shake his head and remind himself that Noah _is_ young; they both are.

"And I thought we had a lot of baby stuff," he says, looking at Aiden's playpen, her toy chest, and the blankets strewn pretty much everywhere.

Dylan snorts. "It's a whole different ball game once they decide they need to move around."

"She moves around already?" Noah asks, eyes wide. "I thought they didn't do that until, like, six months!"

"Aiden's not rolling yet but she tries really hard. I'll show you once she's up from her nap."

Noah collapses onto the sofa. "Did you ever feel like you were ready?" he asks. "Because Charlie's due in a little over a month, and I feel like I have no fucking clue."

Dylan winces in sympathy. He's not sure Noah actually wants an honest answer to that question.

"That's kind of what I was afraid of," Noah says, sighing, when Dylan doesn't answer.

Dylan flops onto the sofa next to him, within hugging distance if the need arises. "There's plenty of stuff you can do to get ready, and people you can talk to. A lot of it is about learning who your kid is, though—what they like, how they handle being evicted."

"Do you have any tips?" Noah asks, looking over at him.

"Pay attention when they show you how to do diapers," Dylan advises. "Really, really close attention. You're gonna do most of them while Charlie's healing up, and trust me: you don't want to wear anything in a diaper."

Noah shudders. "Duly noted."

"If you don't have a nanny yet you might want to think about it," Dylan adds. "Depending on how the end of your season goes Charlie might need a lot more help than you can give him."

Noah makes a face. "That probably won't be a problem, but I'll start looking anyway."

"Okay, that looks like the face of someone who needs a hug," Dylan declares. He pauses for a minute, to give Noah the chance to back away. Noah just turns towards him a little, and Dylan doesn't need an engraved invitation. He wraps his arms around Noah and drags him in. "I know it was like a week ago, but happy birthday."

"Thanks," Noah mumbles, leaning into Dylan's side.

"You're officially not a teen statistic," Dylan teases. "Unlike me."

Noah grimaces. "I feel like it's close enough to still count."

"I'm just saying, no judgement here." Dylan's not about being a hypocrite.

"I know," Noah says, sighing. "Thanks, Stromer."

They sit there quietly for a minute, and Dylan thinks hard about the things he wishes he'd known. "Sometimes the baby is just gonna cry and you don't know why," he says. "It happens. It sucks. You feel like the worst person, but you're not, I promise."

Noah nods against Dylan's collarbone. "Okay. I'll try to remember."

"Take time to enjoy the good parts," Dylan adds. "You don't have to put on a happy face for everyone, but it's okay to like being around your kid." Dylan stopped looking at online forums when Aiden was a few weeks old, because everyone seemed to be competing for most miserable.

"I really love him already," Noah mumbles. "Like, a lot."

Dylan can't help smiling. "They have this way of just like... grabbing hold of your heart and squeezing it. Metaphorically."

Noah laughs a little. "I'm glad that's not literal. Charlie's grip strength is ridiculous, and with my luck, the kid's gonna inherit it."

Dylan opens his mouth to reply, but there's a loud "Ohhhhhhh" from the other room.

Noah starts laughing. "Is that her? She's chatty, just like you."

"She's not fond of being ignored," Dylan says, amused. "Want to meet her?"

Noah disentangles himself. "Lead the way."

Dylan stands and heads to Aiden's room. She's wide awake, staring at the door expectantly, and she smiles when Dylan walks in.

"Hey Aiden. How's my beautiful girl?" Dylan scoops her up and she coos happily.

"Oh, wow," Noah says quietly. "She's so little."

Aiden turns her head towards him, and lights up at the sight of a new face. "Ahh," she says, flailing at him.

Dylan grins. "Wanna hold her?"

Noah swallows hard, but he nods. "I should get used to it, right?"

"You should," Dylan confirms. "Plus, this way you can hold her while I get a bottle ready."

"Do I have to hold her head up?" Noah asks.

"Nope, she's all over that," Dylan says proudly. "Just keep a hand on her back. She'll try to noodle onto the floor if you don't."

Noah's face goes white, but he holds out his hands anyway.

"Okay, Aiden," Dylan says as he walks over. "Be good for Uncle Noah."

"I haven't held a baby this little since my sister was born," Noah warns him. "She's thirteen now."

Dylan stops with Aiden held slightly away from his chest, then pulls her back. "Sofa," he decides.

Noah breathes a sigh of relief and turns on his heel. He sits on the sofa, back pressed against the cushions.

"Okay, all you have to do is stop her from rolling off," Dylan tells him. "She'll probably like it better if you keep her close, though."

Noah eyes her warily. "Okay."

Dylan sets her in Noah's arms, adjusting his hold a little, He steps back, and Aiden turns on the charm. She coos and smiles up at him, and Noah can't help smiling back.

"Hi," he murmurs down at her.

Dylan leaves them to get acquainted and goes to make her bottle. She's cute now, but the hungry beast will wake up soon enough.

When he comes back, Aiden's babbling away and rubbing her face on Noah's shirt. "Pull her back," he says immediately, and Noah jerks her slightly away from his chest. Dylan grins. "She's hungry, and when she's hungry, sometimes she gets... chompy."

"Yeah, I do not need to go home with bite marks," Noah agrees.

"Give her this," Dylan says, handing over the bottle. Aiden tracks its movement intently. "Keep it tilted up so she doesn't get air."

"How do I—" Noah starts, but Aiden latches on and starts sucking the bottle down greedily. She tips back in his arms, giving Noah a Look when she almost loses the bottle. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Dylan snickers. "If there's only one thing they're born knowing how to do, it's eat."

"Yeah, I guess so." Noah's posture relaxes, and he just watches Aiden for a while.

"You've got this," Dylan tells him.

"I hope so," Noah says, smiling a little.

"You do," Dylan says firmly. "It's not easy, trust me, but it's worth it." He's more and more convinced of it every day, even though it's also the hardest thing he's ever done. "And you can always call if you have a question."

"Looks like you figured it out," Noah says, looking up and shooting Dylan a grin. "I'll get there too."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "It's not a competition. But if it was, Canada would kick US ass."

"We'll see about that," Noah says, laughing.

-0-

Dylan gets a call the afternoon of the Leafs-Isles game; he grins as he talks to Mark, one of the Leafs' training staff. "We're all set," Mark reports.

"Thanks for helping me pull this off," Dylan says, smiling. He's got a little surprise planned for Mitch, and there's no way he could have planned any of it without Mark's help. "You're the best."

"Convince your team to give mine a win tonight and we'll call it even," Mark ways, laughing.

"Nice try," Dylan says sweetly as he hangs up.

The game is a battle all the way through; Ryan gets the first goal and Mitch scores later on, so Dylan's pretty at peace with it. The Isles pull it out 6-5 in overtime, so Dylan has to make his way through a celebratory crowd to get to the locker room.

Ryan's face lights up when he spots Dylan across the crowd, and Dylan waves one of Aiden's hands back at him. She's a tiny Islander tonight, which will make Mitch pout but is totally adorable. She's wearing an Isles headband that JT gave her, and she didn't try to claw it off; Dylan suspects she knows it's keeping her warm.

Ryan elbows his way through the crush of bodies, yelling that he needs his good luck charm.

He's almost to them when Boychuk gets to Dylan. "Hey!" he says. "How was sitting in the kid's section tonight?"

"Very relaxing," Dylan says dryly. He's pretty sure there's half-chewed cracker on his shoe.

Boychuk laughs. "We scored a goal for each kid," he says. "You brought one, Sheena brought the twins, and Saint Brandy brought all three of Laddy's terrors."

"There's my girl!" Ryan bellows, which is all the warning Dylan gets before he's smothered in a sweaty hug. He smells like hockey, which is probably why Aiden whines and whacks him in the chest.

Ryan laughs and kisses the top of her head. "Everyone on the ice who loves you got a goal tonight," he says, beaming at Aiden as he takes a step back. "You're a good luck charm for Uncle Ryan and for your daddy, and Uncle Auston got one, too." Ryan looks up at Dylan. "She has to wear Isles stuff forever now. We won."

Boychuk facewashes him. "She's too little for that kind of pressure. She needs to be at least as tall as you before you turn her into a mascot."

"We're the same height!" Ryan protests.

Boychuk ignores him and turns to Dylan. "Did you hear something?"

"The sound of how you haven't made your kids mascots," Dylan replies, and Boychuk laughs and holds his hand up for a high five. Dylan lets Aiden do the honours, and then waves Boychuk away so he can go see his kids.

Ryan steps in again. "I'm crashing at John's," he says quietly. "You and Mitch can have the place for the night."

Dylan grins. "Don't do anything I would."

"Well, I can't," Ryan says, looking at Aiden pointedly. "But thanks for the advice. I'll see you tomorrow." He leans down and kisses Aiden's head again, then wanders off.

Dylan makes the rounds, saying hi to the people he's met before. It's going to take Mitch a while to be ready for visitors. Aiden's pretty perky, which is nice; her noise-cancelling headphones had let her nap through most of the third period, so she's got some energy. Dylan can't imagine having a cranky baby in a dressing room. She charms everyone within a three-foot radius

They end up near JT, and Aiden immediately reaches for him. He's got some scruff going on, and she's endlessly fascinated by it.

"Hi, Aiden," JT says in a disgustingly soft voice. He takes her out of Dylan's arms, and she coos happily.

"Oooooh," she says, patting his face. She scrunches up her nose at how prickly it is, but she doesn't stop. JT laughs at her, and it's all so fucking cute Dylan thinks he might vomit. He looks around and spots Ryan, stopped dead halfway to the showers. Dylan makes a little shooing motion, raising his eyebrows. Ryan and JT aren't exactly subtle, but they're not out. Ryan's face is gonna fix that if he doesn't get in the shower now, though.

Ryan smacks himself in the forehead with his palm and gets going.

Dylan's phone finally buzzes, and when he checks, it's from Mitch. "Okay, I'm stealing her back," he says, reaching out to take Aiden. She whines, reaching for JT's face again, but Dylan grabs her hand. "Aiden, where's Daddy?"

She instantly whips her head around, looking for Mitch, and Dylan gives JT a smile. "I'm gonna go find him before she turns on the air raid sirens," he says. "See you later."

JT waves at them, still smiling that awful, soft smile he gets around kids and baby animals. Dylan's thankful he doesn't have to see that every day; he would want to take photos of Aiden with JT all the time, and things would get awkward.

He walks out of the locker room with Aiden, who has started whining in his arms. "We're gonna go find Daddy," he says, bouncing her a little. "Daddy, Daddy, where's Daddy?"

"Bah!" Aiden informs him as they wind their way through the depths of Barclay's.

"I know, you were promised Daddy time and it's taking too long," he says, turning the last corner to get to the visitors' locker room. "Why is time?"

Aiden gets the collar of his shirt in a stranglehold and yells in his face, which of course in when Jake Gardiner walks out of the locker room. "Hey," he says, "two minutes for roughing. You're not supposed to do that, kiddo."

She whips her head around, mouth still hanging open, and squints at him. "Bah?" she asks hopefully.

Gardiner makes a horrified face and moonwalks back into the locker room.

Dylan snorts, but before he can do anything else, the door flies open and Auston comes barrelling out. "Aiden!" he says, face breaking into a grin. "Did you scare Gards?"

Aiden grins back at him and lets go of Dylan's collar so she can flap both arms wildly. She's never seen Auston without seeing Mitch, so she must know he's close. 

"Trying to fly, chica?" he asks, smiling at her. "I bet I know who you really want to see. Let's go look for your dad."

Dylan braces himself for Aiden's pterodactyl screech as they walk into the locker room. Sure enough, as soon as she sees Mitch, it's like being next to a car alarm speaker. It cuts through the noise of the locker room, and most of the guys stop talking and turn to see what's going on.

Kadri cracks up laughing. "She's definitely your kid."

"Yes she is," Mitch coos, beelining for them. It's tough to hold onto Aiden when all she wants is to be in Mitch's arms, but Dylan's got practice.

Mitch is already dressed, and Aiden has all of his attention, so the team doesn't even bother trying to talk to him as he heads for the door. Kadri shakes his head at Dylan, though, so he's pretty sure there are going to be some epic chirps tomorrow.

"How are you?" Mitch asks, nuzzling Aiden's hair as they walk toward the parking lot. "Anything exciting happen since I talked to you last night?"

"Aiden had a nap during the third period," Dylan replies. "That was super exciting for me, because it means she's not a cranky mess right now."

"Yay," Mitch says, shaking one of Aiden's hands in the air. "Naps are so great!"

He straps Aiden into her car seat, climbing in next to her when she starts fussing.

"I got a timeline for the rest of my season," Dylan says as he gets into the driver's seat. "They're sending me to Bridgeport for conditioning at the end of the month. I'll probably get a few games with the Isles at the end of the season."

"What?" There's a thump, and when Dylan peers into the back seat Mitch is holding his head. "That's awesome, babe!"

"Thanks," Dylan says, smiling at him. "I'm pretty thrilled, actually. The nanny has the dates and is going to travel with me, so everything's pretty much all set."

Mitch beams at him. "We should celebrate."

"Absolutely," Dylan replies. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'll tell you when we get home." Mitch waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. Dylan knew who he was marrying, so he's not surprised.

"I'll hold you to that," he promises, putting the car and drive and heading out.

-0-

The alarm goes off at five in the morning, and Mitch groans and throws his arm over Dylan's chest. "I don't wanna," he whines.

"You can sleep on the plane," Dylan points out. "And Aiden and I will be right behind you. She can sleep in our house tonight."

That makes Mitch sit up, and he beams down at Dylan. "You guys are coming home," he says, like he's just remembering. Morning is not Mitch's best time of day.

"Happy anniversary," Dylan replies.

"Happy anniversary," Mitch repeats, leaning in to kiss him lightly. "Okay, let's get ready. The sooner we get on our planes, the sooner we can reunite in Toronto."

Dylan snorts. "If I'd known it was this easy to bribe you out of bed..."

"I'm still asleep," Mitch says cheerily, getting to his feet. "This is me sleepwalking."

"Think you can sleepwalk your way to the nursery after you're dressed?" Dylan teases.

"Yup," Mitch says. "I'll get her up if you make the bottle."

"Deal." Dylan knows a good bargain when he hears it.

It doesn't take them long; mornings are still a pretty well-oiled machine for the two of them. They get themselves ready to go, then get Aiden up and fed, and have enough time left over to make sure everything's clean before the car arrives.

Mitch cuddles Aiden close and leans into Dylan's side. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"We'll walk you down," Dylan says. "I need to put Aiden's gear bag in the car anyway." He hides a smile, but Mitch really is still half-asleep. He doesn't notice at all, just nods and carries Aiden out of the apartment.

"Hold on," Dylan says at the last minute. "You forgot something."

Mitch turns around, bouncing Aiden a little. "What'd I forget?"

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Where's your carry-on, babe?"

Mitch looks at him blankly, then looks down on Aiden. "You're not my carry-on," he tells her.

"You wish," Dylan teases. "I'll be right back."

He heads back into the apartment. He grabs his phone and tucks it into his pocket, then grabs the carry-on and heads back out to where Mitch is dancing with Aiden in the hallway. "Okay, got your bag," he says. "Let's get everything loaded up."

They make it down to the curb and Mitch doesn't suspect a thing. Dylan loads Mitch's carry-on and makes sure he's not looking before stashing Aiden's bag, too. He shuts the trunk and goes back over to Mitch's side. "We're getting in the same time as you," he says, hugging Mitch so he can't see the smile Dylan can't keep in anymore.

"What?" Mitch replies, still sleepy and confused. "Did you change your flight?"

"You could say that," Dylan says, stepping back so he can open the door. He takes Aiden and buckles her into the car seat that's waiting for them. Mitch could probably do it, even though he's a zombie right now, but it's better not to take the chance.

When he stands back up, Mitch is staring at Aiden. "What?" he says again.

"I talked to Leafs people," Dylan says, grinning at him. "We're flying up with you."

"Okay," Mitch replies. He climbs in next to Aiden, buckles himself in, and then it clicks. " _What?_ "

Dylan laughs as he walks around to climb in the other side. "Happy anniversary," he says. "You can deal with cranky plane-Aiden."

Mitch starts crying. Dylan starts to reach out, but Aiden coos and pats Mitch awkwardly on the arm. "Ah beh beh," she says very sincerely.

"I know," Mitch says, his voice wobbling. "The team'll give me hell if I don't get it together."

"They probably will anyway," Dylan says, smiling a little. "You can wave Aiden at them, though. She's a charmer. Plus, I'm pretty sure Gards is terrified of her."

Mitch zones out during the car ride, holding Dylan's hand in a death grip.

"We're going home, baby girl," Mitch says when they pull up at the airport. He sounds like he doesn't believe it yet.

Aiden shrieks, which startles the driver into honking the horn.

"Sorry," Dylan says, wincing. "She's not a fan of planes."

"Good luck, then," the driver says. "Need help unloading?"

Mitch turns to Dylan and shrugs.

"Nah, we're traveling light," Dylan answers. "But thanks."

The driver nods, and they get out. Mitch takes Aiden, which doesn't surprise Dylan at all, so he grabs the bags from the back.

"You're such a sneak," Mitch says when he sees the diaper bag.

"It helped that you actually were sleepwalking," Dylan teases. "Which way?"

Mitch heads off, and Dylan trails after him doing a pretty good impression of a luggage cart.

They turn a corner, and Momo beams at them. "Hey! There you guys are." He leans down and smiles at Aiden. "Hi, kiddo. Did you miss me?"

Aiden considers him thoughtfully for a moment, then reaches out and yanks at his hair.

"Hockey people show their love through violence," Dylan says as he tries to rescue Momo.

"Don't I know it," Momo says cheerfully as he stands up, rubbing at his head. "Good grip strength there, Aiden." He gives them a wide berth as Dylan and Mitch board the plane.

When they start down the aisle, Kadri stands up and throws shiny confetti into the air. "Happy anniversary!" he shouts, and the rest of the guys start whooping and cheering.

Aiden squeals and reaches for the glitter.

"Thanks, Naz," Mitch says dryly, picking it out of Aiden's hair. "That stuff's non-toxic, right? Because she's definitely gonna eat it."

"Don't worry," Bozak says. "I talked him down from silly string."

"Thank you," Dylan says fervently.

"Alright boys, settle down," Babcock says, coming up behind them. "Let's get this show on the road."

Aiden growls, probably because she can't reach the shiny, but Babcock laughs. "Sorry, little lady. Didn't mean to leave you out."

She blinks up at him, then gives him a gummy smile.

Babcock smiles back at her, and Dylan swears it makes him look ten years younger. "I hope you're good at flying, but it's okay if you're not," he tells her. "Sometimes Reemer's not good at it, either."

"Hey!" JVR calls out, before apparently realising that he has nothing to follow that up with, and that he just yelled at Babcock. He sinks low in his seat. Dylan tries not to laugh as he passes by, because this isn't his team.

Mitch leads them to the back of the plane. Nobody's back this far except for McElhinney, and he smiles as they sit. "She's cute," he offers.

"I hope you're still saying that in half an hour," Dylan mutters.

McElhinney laughs. "I've got one, too. I remember flying with him at that age. It's fine."

"She can nap with me. It'll be great," Mitch says with all the confidence of blissful ignorance.

Much to Mitch's chagrin, Aiden doesn't nap; instead, she spends the whole flight either whining or poking Mitch in the face when he starts nodding off. Eventually Dylan takes pity on him and goes to walk her up and down the aisle. They stop to say hi to several of Mitch's teammates, and by the time they make their way all the way up and back, they're getting ready to land.

"Hi, baby," Mitch murmurs to Aiden as Dylan passes her back over. "Want a binky? I bet landing's gonna suck if you don't have one."

Dylan blinks at him. "I'm an idiot."

"Did you not bring one?" Mitch asks, turning to frown at him. "I'm sure there are a few stuck in her diaper bag."

"I forgot to get one out last time," Dylan explains. "No wonder she hated it."

"She wasn't going to have a good day that day anyway," Mitch says, shrugging a little. "She probably would have just spit it out."

"Yeah right."

"If it meant she could yell more right in your face?" Mitch counters, raising an eyebrow. He looks down at Aiden. "I love her, but when she wants to make a point, she's gonna make a point."

Dylan can't really argue with that. He rummages in the diaper bag instead, finding a binky and offering it to Aiden. She's only too happy to take it, and she chews on it with an enthusiasm that makes Dylan wince.

"I guess we're giving her a you-know-what before we leave the airport," he says. He's not saying _bottle_ out loud without one almost ready to give her.

Mitch laughs. "See? You've got this."

The landing does go a lot more smoothly than the last time Aiden flew; she's not crying when they land and get off the plane, which is a definite improvement from last time.

"Hold up boys," McElhinney calls out. "Precious cargo coming through."

The guys all stay in their seats and let them off first, which is pretty great. Dylan's got a sneaking suspicion that Babcock and McElhinney would team up to give everyone double dad face if they protested.

Kadri starts up a slow clap, and Dylan pauses to take a bow.

Aiden giggles as they pass him and reaches out, but Mitch grabs her hand before she can get her fingers around the glittery confetti still stuck in his hair. "You're a baby magnet," he says, laughing.

Kadri grins. "Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful."

Mitch just rolls his eyes and walks off the plane. He's used to being the ringleader of all kinds of shenanigans, so chirping just rolls right off him.

"Where can we heat up her food?" Dylan asks, shifting their bags around.

"There's a little kitchen thing we can use," Mitch says, making a turn. Dylan follows him. "Sometimes it really pays to use the fancy people part of the airport."

Mitch distracts Aiden while Dylan warms up the bottle. "Are you gonna be a little Leaflet tonight at Daddy's game?" he asks. "Gonna help Daddy put up points?"

Aiden revels in his attention, cooing around her binky.

"Little baby Leaf," he says, rubbing their noses together. It's the cutest thing, and Dylan wants to melt a little.

Luckily, the microwave beeps, signaling Aiden's favourite time of day: food time. She spits out her binky and starts making impatient noises. 

"I'll let you know the second teleportation is invented," Dylan teases as he brings the bottle over.

"Ah," she says, leaving her mouth hanging open.

"I've got your back," Dylan promises.

She grunts happily when he gets the bottle in her mouth, and they stand there while Aiden eats.

"Eat up," Dylan tells her. "Gotta keep your strength up for your debut at the ACC."

"You'll be perfect," Mitch proclaims, brushing a bit of hair out of her face.

Aiden wiggles her toes happily, and there's nowhere in the world that Dylan would rather be right now.

-0-

The game goes well, and Dylan and Mitch's "yay winning" slash "happy anniversary" celebration after the fact goes even better. Aiden even sleeps through the night, which is like her gift to them, which means they're all in a good mood when Connor calls.

"Hi Davo!" Mitch says enthusiastically when he answers.

Connor takes one look at him and starts laughing. "Do I want to know?"

"Aiden slept _all night_ ," Dylan says dreamily.

"Oh, so that's your well-rested look." Connor raises his eyebrows, skeptical.

"I mean, last night we—" Mitch starts.

"Eeeee!" Aiden shrieks.

Nuge waves at her. "Hi, mini-Marnsmallow."

She grins and shoves her shirt into her mouth.

Dylan shakes his head. "She just ate, but you wouldn't know it."

"That's her thing," Nuge says, nodding. "High five for snacks."

Aiden understands the hi part, so she flaps her entire arm at the camera.

"She knows hi?" Connor says, delighted. He leans in and waves. "Hi, Aiden! Hi!"

She flaps her arm at him, almost smacking herself in the face.

"If only we'd known this last week," Nuge says, amused. "That's a cute video."

Dylan laughs. "This is the first time she's done it on command."

"Good to know," Connor says, smiling. "That means we didn't miss something that should have been part of your anniversary present."

"Ooh!" Mitch wriggles in his seat, as if he's the preverbal infant.

"I emailed you a Dropbox link," Nuge says. "Get your laptop. You'll want the screen."

"If it's porn I'm sending it to your mom," Dylan threatens.

"As if I'd link you to porn when there were impressionable eyes watching," Nuge says, sniffing. "Marns doesn't need to see that at his tender height."

Mitch glares at him. "I'll have you know I'm listed at six feet."

"Yeah, my nhl.com stats are lies, too," Nuge says agreeably.

"Go get your laptop," Connor cuts in impatiently. "I want you guys to see this."

Dylan hands Aiden over to Mitch and goes to get his laptop. It doesn't take him long to grab it and set it up in the living room; soon enough, he's clicking on the link that Nuge had sent. A video pops up on his screen, black with the little play button in the middle. "It's loaded," Dylan says. "What is it?"

Connor ducks his head, blushing. "Just watch it."

Dylan hits play and settles back into the sofa, against Mitch's side. He raises an eyebrow when the status bar shows that it's almost half an hour long, but then the title screen pops up and he draws a sharp breath. "Little speck," Dylan reads out. Mitch's hands are occupied, so Dylan grabs his elbow.

The title fades out and a screen of text replaces it. Dylan reaches out quickly to pause it to he can read it, voice shaking a little. "This is for your Daddy and your Papa on their first wedding anniversary, but it's a story about you, Aiden. Some day when you're bigger, you'll watch it and you'll know how much we all love you."

Connor covers his face with his hand. "I know it's cheesy, just keep going."

"Davo," Mitch whispers, staring at the screen. "Did you do what I think you did?"

"We had a lot of help," Nuge says. "Just watch it."

Dylan holds on tight to Mitch and hits play.

Dylan's first ultrasound pops up, Aiden a little unidentifiable blob on the screen. "You surprised us all a lot," Connor's voice says softly over the background music. "Nobody knew what to think when your Papa found out he was having you."

Connor buries his face in Nuge's shoulder. "Is that really what I sound like?"

"Shhh," Nuge says to Connor. "You sound fine. Let them watch."

The screen switches to a photo from their wedding day, Mitch looking up at Dylan with an amazed look on his face while Dylan wipes at his eyes. "Except your Daddy," Connor's voice says. "He knew right away that you were going to be a family."

Mitch sniffles and leans down to kiss the top of Aiden's head.

"That's you, right there," he whispers. The screen goes blurry, and Dylan has to wipe his eyes.

The video goes on; a lot of it is photos with Connor narrating, but there are more and more videos interspersed into it as Aiden makes her appearance. Some of them are things Dylan knows he or Mitch sent to Connor, but there are others that he doesn't recognise.

"Where'd you get that one from?" Mitch asks, over a clip of Aiden kicking away in a tutu. Then Jack pops into frame with a tiara headband.

"We had a lot of help," Nuge repeats softly. "We asked a couple people for things, and it kind of snowballed from there."

"Whose asses do I need to kick for not telling me?" Dylan chokes out.

"There are too many asses," Conor says, laughing a little. "We threatened to sic Maroon on anyone who told you. Keep watching."

Next up is a video of Matty, cuddling Aiden while Dylan snores and drools on himself in the background. That one is definitely Ryan's fault, but it's followed by Ryan and JT playing plane with Aiden, so Dylan forgives him.

"You have lots of people who love you," Connor narrates through the laptop speakers. "And there'll be lots more."

It flips to a video of Connor and Nuge, sitting next to each other in their Edmonton apartment. "Hi, Aiden," Nuge says, waving. "We love you."

Before Dylan can comment, it changes again. This time it's Brinksy smiling at the camera. "Hey, Otter baby," he says. "Love you lots." The rest of the Otters come next, the whole team posing with the Memorial Cup. It's followed by the Knights, holding up a 16 jersey with Marner-Strome across the back.

They managed to get Dylan's parents and Mitch's parents to do a joint grandparents one, and that's followed by a joint brothers one.

Dylan can't keep track of all the faces after that; he's starting to feel a little dizzy. It's voice after voice, person after person telling Aiden that they love her, that she's special, that she's important to them. Dylan knows he's crying, but there's no way he cares at all, not with this in front of him.

"You guys, this is..." Dylan has no idea how to finish that thought.

"It's been a crazy year," Connor's voiceover concludes. "And we wouldn't have it any other way."

The screen fades to black, and then words fade in. _Happy first anniversary, Dylan and Mitch_ , it says. _To many more._

"Bah!" Aiden complains, now that the shinies have gone away.

Connor laughs. "You liked the you show, huh?"

"She's a Marner," Mitch says. "And a Strome. As if she wasn't going to be a star."

"Happy anniversary, you guys," Nuge says, smiling at them. "We got a DVD made, too. It's in the mail on its way to you."

Connor takes a deep breath and sits up. "Was it okay?"

"Connor McCaptain McDavid," Dylan chokes out, wiping at his eyes. "That is the best thing ever."

"I cut the ones where you were all sweaty and huge," Connor admits.

"And that's why you're his favourite," Mitch translates when Dylan starts crying again.

"I love you, Davo," Dylan manages to say.

"Love you too, Dyls," Connor says, voice soft. "Happy anniversary."

"Well, the card I got Dylan looks pretty crappy right now," Mitch jokes. "So thanks for that."

"Anytime," Nuge says. "We'll let you guys go, okay? Give Aiden a hug for us."

Mitch cuddles her close, smooshing his cheek against her hair. "Thank you. So much."

"You're welcome," Connor says, smiling as he signs off.

Dylan sets down his phone and pitches sideways so he can lean on Mitch. "Can you believe they did that?"

"No," Mitch says, laughing a little. He shifts so Aiden's in both of their laps. "That's..." He sniffles a little. "Wow."

"Ooooh," Aiden concurs, flapping her hand at the laptop. It's a freeze frame of herself, grinning her head off.

"That's about right," Dylan says, laughing as he leans down to kiss her head. "I love you." He sits back up, then leans in to kiss Mitch. "I love you, too. Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary," Mitch says, smiling up at him. "It's been a trip, eh? But still: 10 out of 10. Would family again."

Dylan laughs, and it startles Aiden into laughing, too. It's not long before Mitch joins them, and Dylan thinks: yeah. Would definitely family again.


	43. EPILOGUE: July 2021

"And now," Babcock says, glancing over at them, "Mitchy would like to say a few words to you."

Dylan bites his lip, trying not to laugh at the nickname. He doesn't want to set Aiden off; four-year-olds don't know the meaning of quiet.

"Here I go," Mitch mutters, then pastes on a smile and walks out onto the stage. The audience cheers, and Mitch waves as he gives them his media smile.

"Hi," he says, leaning in too close to the mic. His voice bounces around the room, and he winces and pulls back a little. "Sorry. You'd think I'd never done this before."

Aiden tugs on Dylan's hand. "Can we get fries?"

"We have to wait until Daddy's done with his talk," Dylan says, looking down at her. "And then he gets to pick where we eat, remember? Since it's his special day."

Aiden takes a deep breath, and Dylan just manages to get a hand over her mouth before she can yell for Mitch to hurry up.

"If you don't interrupt, we can go to Prairie Girl after," he bargains. Aiden's eyes light up; the day she turns down cupcakes is the day Dylan volunteers for a trade to the Canucks.

"I appreciate everyone's support," Mitch says as Dylan pinky-swears with their daughter. "I couldn't have asked for a better start to my career."

He smiles, and it's a little more real this time. "I always wanted to be a Leaf. Being drafted here was like every dream I ever had coming true all at once, and I thought that I'd retire a Leaf, maybe see my number in the rafters someday." He glances to the side. "Some things are more important, though."

Dylan picks Aiden up so she can't run onto the stage. "He's talking about you." Aiden beams and hides her face against his neck.

"My parents made more sacrifices than I can count to get me here, and now it's my turn." He clears his throat. "I've had an amazing five years here," he continues. "I've been able to play with people who I can truly say are going to be legends some day, and I've gotten to lift the Cup with them. I thought I couldn't ask for more from this team, but then the chance came up for me to go be with my family."

The crowd is dead silent, no-one willing to believe what they're hearing. Dylan thinks he can see Steve Dangle crying.

"I know I'm leaving Toronto in good hands," Mitch continues. "And I'm excited to start this new chapter in my life, even if it does mean Dylan's going to have to give up being 93 in Brooklyn."

A few people laugh, and Mitch beams like he just won the Hart again.

"I guess I'm just here to say thanks, Toronto," he says. He takes a deep breath, and Dylan knows how hard this is for him, how he's looking forward to them all being together but is still sad at what he's leaving behind. "It's been great."

Dylan can hear him choking up, so he takes that as the cue to step onto the stage with Aiden and walk across to the podium.

"Hi," Aiden shouts, waving to everyone assembled. She gives them the Marner smile and it breaks some of the tension; there's not a shy bone in her body.

Dylan hands her over to Mitch, and puts a hand on Mitch's back to steady him.

Aiden leans towards the mic. "Daddy loves Toronno very much," she says seriously, "but he's gonna come live with me'n Papa now. Sorry, Toronno, but Uncle Grandpa said it was okay."

Babcock drops his head to try to hide the fact that he's laughing. Dylan's still not sure where she'd picked up _Uncle Grandpa_ , but Babcock had loved the nickname instantly.

"Okay," Mitch says loudly. He's smiling, at least, so that's a positive. "Kids say the darndest things, am I right?"

"Hey Aiden, can we borrow your dad for the playoffs?" someone calls out from the audience.

Her frown is epic. "No!"

"Can we if I let you pet my dog?" Steve Dangle follows up, smiling at the stage. Aiden's obsession with his "curly dog" has been well-documented.

Aiden squeezes her arms around Mitch's neck in a chokehold.

"That's a no," Dylan interprets. "Honey, stop choking Daddy."

Aiden keeps it together through approximately one million photos and a handful of questions. She is four, though, so her patience has a limit. When she starts tugging on Dylan's arm, he taps Mitch on the shoulder. "She's done."

Mitch gives her a quick kiss and hands her back to Dylan, then he has to pose with Babcock for a while.

Dylan wanders over to the refreshment table and grabs her a bottle of water. "Two hands," he warns as he gives it to her.

"I know, Papa," Aiden says, giving him a longsuffering look.

"I just wanted to remind you," Dylan says innocently. "If you spill water, then we have to go home to change before we can go eat and get cupcakes."

Aiden very carefully wraps both her hands around the bottle.

Mitch finds them about ten minutes later. "I got the go signal," he says. "Let's book it before someone else finds me."

"Yay!" Aiden declares, dropping her bottle on the floor so she can clap her hands. Dylan's shoes get more than a little soggy.

"Aiden," Mitch says, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't be mad," she says. "It's your special day!"

"What do you say to Papa?" Mitch says, undeterred.

Aiden looks to Dylan for moral support.

"I'm waiting," Dylan says.

"Sorry for dropping water on your shoes," she finally says, sighing like she's put upon.

Dylan gives her a hug and sets her down. "Can you pick up the bottle for me?"

She leans over and picks it up, turning to face Mitch. "Are we gonna go eat now? Papa said we could get cupcakes after."

"Cupcakes?" Mitch echoes. "Are you sure Papa didn't say mud cakes?"

"They don't sell mud cakes at Prairie Girl!" Aiden says, giggling. "Even if they do, I'm getting a cupcake!" She takes Mitch by the hand and drags him towards the door, loudly debating the merits of different kinds of frosting.

Smiling, Dylan follows after his family.


End file.
